
Class J]PS_2A9^Z. 

Book 1_ 

GcnyrightN? _^ 



COFBUGHT DEPOBIC 



>' ■ -^- -. 



SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 



Songs 



FROM THE 



Southern Seas, 



^nti ©tfjEt Poems. 



BY 



JOHN BOYLE O'REILLY. 




(3 ...^SH..i 









BOSTON: ,^ 
ROBERTS BROTHERS. 

1873. 






6^. 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by 

JOHN BOYLE O'rEILLY, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, atfWashington. 



CAMBRIDGE: 
PKESS OF JOHN WILSON AND SON. 



CAPTAIN DAVID E. GIFFORD, 

OF THE WHALING BAEQUE " GAZELLE," OF NEW BEDFORD. 
I DEDICATE THIS BOOK. 

In February, 1869, I left the coast of Western Australia in a small 
boat without a sail. Peculiar circumstances rendered it impossible that 
I should return : my only path lay across the Indian Ocean. It pleased 
God that my boat was seen from the masthead of the " Gazelle," com- 
manded by Captain Gifford, who picked me up and treated me with 
all kindness during a seven months' whaling cruise. On parting with 
him at the Cape of Good Hope, he lent me twenty guineas to help me on 
my way to America. One of the greatest pleasures this little book can 
ever afford me is the writing of this dedication. 



PREFACE. 



It may be well to say in the opening of this 
book that many of the scenes therein shown are 
taken from a land blessed by God and blighted 
by man, — a Penal Colony. Western Australia, 
the poorest and the loveliest of all the Australias, 
has received from the mother country only her 
shame and her crime. 

I cannot write excuses for the many faults 
and crudities in this first book : if nobody else 
can prize the volume, I myself can. Not for 
its literary worth, indeed ; but for many hours of 
pleasure which its composition has given to me. 
Whatever merit it may be denied, it must cer- 
tainly possess that, if merit it be, of realism. 
Many of the scenes shown are memories, not 
imaginings, — things which clamored for recogni- 
tion, and I have written them here. 

The Author. 



CONTENTS. 



The King of the Vasse 15 

The Dog Guard G5 

The Amber Whale 75 

The Dukite Snake 101 

The Monster Diamond 113 

Haunted by Tigers 123 

Western Australia 137 

GoLu 140 

Chunder Ali's Wife 143 

Hidden Sins 147 

Unspoken Words 149 

My Native Land 151 

The Poison Flower 153 

My Mother's Memory 155 

The Old School Clock 156 

A Legend of the Blessed Virgin 160 

The Wreck of the Atlantic 163 

Withered Snowdrops 166 

The Wail of Two Cities 169 

The Fishermen op Wexford 172 

The Flying Dutchman 179 

Uncle Ned's Tale. — An Old Dragoon's Story . . 191 

Uncle Ned's Tales. —How the Flag was Saved . . 210 



Delightful land, in wildncss even benign, 
The glorious past is ours, the future thine I 
As in a cradled Hercules, we trace 
The lines of empire in thine infant face. 
What nations in thy wide horizon's span 
Shall teem on tracts untrodden yet by man I 
What spacious cities with their spires shall gleam 
Where now the panther laps a lonely stream, 
And all but brute or reptile life is dumb 1 
liiuid of the free ! thy kingdom is to come. 

Campbell. 



Nor gold nor silver are the words set here, 

Nor rich-wrought chasing on design of art / 
Jiut rugged relics of an unhnown sphere 

"Where fortune chanced I played one time apart. 
I say not this to pity move, or praise, — 

This little, faulty hooh is all my own. 
In which Z'ye writ of men and things and ways 

Uncouth and rough as Austral ironstone. 

It may he, I have left the higher gleams 

Of shies and flowers unheeded or forgot , 
It may he so, — hut, looking hack, it seems 

When Iioas with them I heheld them not. 
I was no ramhling poet, hut a man 

Sard-pressed to dig and delve, with naught of ease 
The hot day through, save when the evening's fan 

Of sea-winds rustled through the Jcindly trees. 

It may he so j hut when I think I smile 

At my poor hand and hrain to paint the charms 

Of God^ s first-hlazoned cannas ! here the aisle 
Moonlit and deep of reaching gothic arms 



From towering gums^ mahogany^ and palm^ 
And odorous jam and sandal ; there the growth 

Of arm-long velvet leaves grown hoar iti calm, — 
Jn calm unbroken since their luscious youth. 

JETow can J show you all the silent birds 

With stra7ige metallic glintings on the. wing ? 
Or how tell half their sadness in cold words, — 

The poor dumb lutes, the birds that never sing f 
Of wo7idrous parrot-greens and iris hue 

Of sensuous flower and of gleaming snake, — 
Ah ! what 1 see I long that so might you, 

£ut of these things what picture can J make ? 

Sometime, maybe, a man will wander there, — 

A m,ind God-gifted, and not dull and weak / 
And he will come and paint that land so fair. 

And shoiD the beauties of which I but speaJc. 
But in the hard, sad days that there I spent. 

My mind absorbed rude pictures : these I show 
As best I may, and just with this intent, — 

To tell some things that all folk may not know. 



WESTERN AUSTRALIA. 

THE KING OF THE VASSE. 
A LEGEND OF THE BUSH. 



From thai fair land and drear land in ihe South, 

Of which through years I do not cease to think, 
I brought a tale, learned not by word of mouth. 

But formed by finding here one golden link 
And there another ; and with hands unskilled 

For such fine work, but patient of all i^ain 
For love of it, I sought therefrom to build 

What might have been at first the goodly chain. 

It is not golden now : my craft knows more 
Of working baser metal than of fine; 

But to those fate-wrought rings of precious ore 
I add these rugged iron links of mine. 



SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 



THE KING OF THE VASSE. 

A LEGEND OP THE BUSH. 

lYyTY tale wliicli I have brought is of a time 

Ere that fair Southern land was stained with 
crime, 
Brought thitherward in reeking ships and cast 
Like blight upon the coast, or like a blast 
From angry levin on a fair young tree, 
That stands thenceforth a piteous sight to see. 
So stands this land to-day beneath the sun, — 
A weltering plague-spot ; while not any one 
Of all the Christian lands upon the earth, 
Not e'en the rock that last had ocean birth, 
Would call her sister, — she, the fairest shore 
In all the Southern Ocean o'er and o'er. 
Poor Cinderella ! she must weep her woe, 
Because an elder sister wills it so. 



1 6 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

Ah \ could that sister see the future day 

When her own wealth and strength are shorn 

away, 
And she, lone mother then, puts forth her hand 
To rest on kindred blood in that far land ; 
Could she but see that kin deny her claim 
Because of nothing owing her but shame, — 
Then might she learn 'tis building but to fall, 
If carted rubble be the basement-wall. 

But this my tale, if tale it be, begins 
Before the young land saw the old land's sins 
Sail up the orient ocean, like a cloud 
Far-blown, and widening as it neared, — a shroud 
Fate-sent to wrap the bier of all things pure. 
And mark the leper-land while stains endure. 

In the far days, the few who sought the West 
Were men all guileless, in adventurous quest 
Of lands to feed their flocks and raise their grain, 
And help them live their lives with less of pain 
Than crowded Europe lets her cliildren know. 



THE KING OF THE VASSE. 1 7 

From their old homesteads did they seaward go, 

As if in Nature's order men must flee 

As flow the streams, — from inlands to the sea. 

In that far time, from out a Northern land, 
With home-ties severed, went a numerous band 
Of men and wives and children, white-haired 

folk: 
Whose humble hope of rest at home had broke, 
As year was piled on year, and still their toil 
Had wrung poor fee from Sweden's rugged soil. 
One day there gathered from the neighboring steads, 
In Jacob Eibsen's, five strong household heads, — 
Five men large-limbed and sinewed, Jacob's sons. 
Though he was hale, as one whose current runs 
In stony channels, that the streamlet rend, 
But keep it clear and full unto the end. 
Eight sons had Jacob Eibsen, — three stUl boys. 
And these five men, who owned of griefs and 

joys 
The common lot ; and three tall girls beside. 
Of whom the eldest was ablusliing bride 



1 8 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

One year before. Old-fashioned times and men, 
And wives and maidens, were in Sweden then. 
These five came there for counsel : they were 

tired 
Of hoping on for all the heart desired ; 
And Jacob, old but mighty-thewed as youth, 
In all their words did sadly own the truth, 
And said unto them, " Wealth cannot be found 
In Sweden now by men who till the ground. 
I 've thought at times of leaving this bare place. 
And holding seaward with a seeking face 
For those new lands they speak of, where men 

thrive. 
Alone I 've thought of this ; but now you five — 
Five brother men of Eibsen blood — shall say 
If our old stock from here must wend their 

way. 
And seek a home where anxious sires can give 
To every child enough whereon to live." 

Then each took thought in silence. Jacob gazed 
Across them at the pastures worn and grazed 



THE KING OF THE VASSE. 19 

By ill-fed herds ; his glance to corn-fields passed, 
Where stunted oats, worse each year than the last, 
And blighted barley, grew amongst the stones, 
That showed ungainly, like earth's fleshless bones. 
He sighed, and turned away. " Sons, let me know 
What think you." 

Each one answered firm, " We go." 
And then they said, " We want no northern wind 
To chill us more, or driving hail to blind. 
But let us sail where south winds fan the sea, 
And happier we and aU our race shall be." 
And so in time there started for the coast, 
With farm and household gear, this Eibsen host ; 
And .there, with others, to a good ship passed. 
Which soon of Sweden's hills beheld the last. 

I know not of their voyage, nor how they 
Did wonder-stricken sit, as day by day, 
'Neath tropic rays, they saw the smooth sea swell 
And heave; while night by night the north-star 
feU, 



20 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

Till last they watched Mm burning on the sea ; 
Nor how they saw, and wondered it could be, 
Strange beacons rise before them as they gazed ; 
Nor how their hearts grew light when southward 

blazed 
Five stars in blessed shape, — the Cross ! whose 

flame 
Seemed shining welcome as the wanderers came. 

My story presses from this star-born hope 

To where on young New Holland's western slope 

These Northern farming folk found homes at 

last, 
And all their thankless toil seemed now long 

past. 

Nine fruitful years chased over, and nigh all 
Of life was sweet. But one dark drop of gall 
Had come when first they landed, like a sign 
Of some black woe ; and deep in Eibsen's wine 
Of life it hid, till in the sweetest cup 
The old man saw its shape come shuddering up. 



THE KING OF THE VASSE. 21 

And first it came in this wise : when their ship 

Had made the promised land, and every lip 

Was pouring praise for what the eye did meet, — 

For all the au' was yellow as with heat 

Above the peaceful sea and dazzling sand 

That wooed each other round the beauteous land, 

Where inward stretched the slumbering forest's 

green, — 
When first these sights from off the deck were 

seen, 
There rose a wailing sternwards, and the men 
Who dreamt of heaven turned to earth agen, 
And heard the direful cause with bated breath, — 
The land's first gleam had brought the blight of 

death ! 

The wife of Eibsen held her six-years son. 
Her youngest, and in secret best-loved one, 
Close to her lifeless : his had been the cry 
That first horizonwards bent every eye ; 
And from that opening sight of sand and tree 
Like one deep spell-bound did he seem to be, 



22 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

And moved by some strange phantasy ; his eyes 

Were wide distended as in glad surprise 

At something there he saw ; his arms reached 

o'er 
The vessel's side as if to greet the shore, 
And sounds came from his lips like sobs of joy. 

A brief time so ; and then the blue-eyed boy 
Sank down convulsed, as if to him appeared 
Strange sights that they saw not ; and all afeard 
Grew the late joj'ous people with vague dread ; 
And loud the mother wailed above her dead. 

The ship steered in and found a bay, and then 
The anchor plunged aweary-like : the men 
Breathed breaths of rest at treading land agen. 

Upon the beach by Christian men untrod 

The wanderers kneeling offered up to God 

The land's first-fruits ; and nigh the kneeling band 

The burdened mother sat upon the sand, 

And stiU she wailed, not praying. 



THE KING OF THE VASSE. 23 

'Neath the wood 
That Imed the beach a crowd of watchers stood : 
Tall men spear-armed, with skms like dusky night, 
And aspect blended of deep awe and fright. 
The ship that morn they saw, like some vast bird, 
Come saihng toward their country ; and they heard 
The voices now of those strange men whose eyes 
Were turned aloft, who spake unto the skies ! 

They heard and feared, not knowing, that first 

prayer, 
But feared not when the wail arose, for there 
Was some familiar thing did not appall, — 
Qrief, common heritage and lot of all. 
They moved and breathed more freely at the cry, 
And slowly from the wood, and timorously, 
They one by one emerged upon the beach. 
The white men saw, and like to friends did reach 
Their hands unarmed ; and soon the dusky crowd 
Drew nigh and stood where wailed the mother 

loud. 
They claimed her kindred, they could understand 



24 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

That woe was hers and theirs ; whereas the band 
Of white-skinned men did not as brethren seem. 

But now, behold ! a man, whom one would deem 

From eye and mien, wherever met, a King, 

Did stand beside the woman. No youth's spring 

Was in the foot that naked pressed the sand ; 

No warrior's might was in the long dark hand 

That waved his people backward ; no bright gold 

Of lace or armor glittered ; gaunt and- old, — 

A belt, half apron, made of emu-down, 

Upon his loins ; upon his head no crown 

Save only that which eighty years did trace 

In whitened hair above his furrowed face. 

Nigh nude he was : a short fur boka hung 

In toga-folds upon his back, but flung 

From his right arm and shoulder, — ever there 

The spear-arm of the warrior is bare. 

So stood he nigh the woman, gaunt and wild 
But king-like, spearless, looking on the child 
That lay with livid face upon her knees. 



THE KING OF THE VASSE. 25 

Thus long and fixed lie gazed, as one who sees 
A symbol hidden in a simple thing, 
And trembles at its meaning : so the King- 
Fell trembling there, and from his breast there 

broke 
A cry, part joy, part fear ; then to his folk 
With upraised hands he spoke one guttural word, 
And said it over thrice ; and when they heard, 
They, too, were stricken with strange fear and joy. 

The white-haired King then to the breathless boy 
Drew closer still, while all the dusky crowd 
In weird abasement to the earth were bowed. 
Across his breast the aged ruler wore 
A leathern thong or belt ; whate'er it bore / 

Was hidden 'neath the boka. As he drew 
Anigh the mother, from his side he threw 
Far back the skin that made his rich-furred robe, 
And showed upon the belt a small red globe 
Of carven wood, bright-polished, as with years : 
When this they saw, deep grew his people's fears, 
And to the white sand were their foreheads 
pressed. 



26 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

The King then raised his arms, as if he blest 
The youth who lay there seeming dead and cold ; 
Then took the globe and oped it, and behold ! 
\Vithin it, bedded in the carven case. 
There lay a precious thing for that rude race 
To hold, though it as God they seemed to prize, ^ 
A Pearl of purest hue and wondrous size I 

And as the sunbeams kissed it, from the dead 
The dusk King looked, and o'er his snowy head 
With both long hands he raised the enthroned 

gem. 
And turned him toward the strangers: e'en on 

them 
Before the lovely Thing, an awe did fall 
To see that worship deep and mystical. 
That King with upraised god, like rev'rent priest 
With elevated Host at Christian feast. 

Then to the mother turning slow, the King 
Took out the Pearl, and laid the beauteous Thing 
Upon the dead boy's mouth and brow and breast, 



THE KING OF THE VASSE. 27 

And as it touched liim, lo ! the awful rest 
Of death was broken, and the youth uprose I 



Nine years passed over since on that fair shore 
The wanderers knelt, — but wanderers they no 

more. 
With hopeful hearts they bore the promise-pain 
Of early labor, and soon bending grain 
And herds and homesteads and a teeming soil 
A thousand-fold repaid their patient toil. 

Nine times the sun's high glory glared above, 

As if his might set naught on human love, 

But yearned to scorn and scorch the things that 

grew 
On man's poor home, till all the forest's hue 
Of blessed green was burned to dusty brown ; 
And still the ruthless rays rained fiercely down, 
Till insects, reptiles, shrivelled as they lay. 
And piteous cracks, like lips, in parching clay 
Sent silent pleadings skyward, — as if she. 



28 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

The fruitful, generous mother, plauitively 

Did wail for water. Lo ! her cry is heard, 

And swift, obedient to the Ruler's word. 

From Southern Iceland sweeps the cool sea breeze, 

To fan the earth and bless the suffering trees, 

And bear dense clouds with bursting weight of 

rain 
To soothe with moisture all the parching pain. 

Oh, Mercy's sweetest symbol ! only they 
Who see the earth agape in burning day, 
Who watch its living things thirst-stricken lie, 
And turn from brazen heaven as they die, — 
Their hearts alone, the shadowy cloud can prize 
That veils the sun, — as to poor earth-dunraed eyes 
The sorrow comes to veil our joy's dear face. 
All rich in mercy and in God's sweet grace ! 

Thrice welcome, clouds from seaward, settling down 
O'er thirsting nature ! Now the trees' dull brown 
Is washed away, and leaflet buds appear, 
And youngling undergrowth, and far and neax 



THE KING OF THE VASSE. 29 

The bush is whispering in her pent-up glee, 

As myriad roots bestir them to be free, 

And drink the soaking moisture ; while bright 

heaven 
Shows clear, as inland are the spent clouds driven ; 
And oh ! that arch, that sky's intensest hue ! 
That deep, God-painted, unimagined blue 
Through which the golden sun now smiling sails. 
And sends his love to fructify the vales 
That late he seemed to curse ! Earth throbs and 

heaves 
With pregnant prescience of life and leaves ; 
The shadows darken 'neath the tall trees' screen. 
While round their stems the rank and velvet green 
Of undergrowth is deeper still ; and there, 
"Within the double shade and steaming air. 
The scarlet palm has fixed its noxious root, 
And hangs the glorious poison of its fruit ; 
And there, 'mid shaded green and shaded light. 
The steel-blue silent birds take rapid flight 
From earth to tree and tree to earth ; and there 
The crunson-plumaged parrot cleaves the air 



30 SOA'CS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

Like flying fire, and huge brown owls awake 

To watch, far down, the stealing carpet snake, 

Fresh-skinned and glowing in his changing dyes, 

With evil wisdom in the cruel eyes 

That glint like gems as o'er his head flits by 

The blue-black armor of the emperor-fly ; 

And all the humid earth displays its powers 

Of prayer, with incense from the hearts of flowers 

That load the air with beauty and with wine 

Of mhigled color, as with one design 

Of making there a carpet to be trod, 

In woven splendor, by the feet of God ! 

And high o'erhead is color : round and round 

The towering gums and tuads, closely wound 

Like cables, creep the climbers to the sun, 

And over all the reaching branches run 

And hang, and still send shoots that climb and 

wind 
Till every arm and spray and leaf is twined, 
And miles of trees, like brethren joined in love, 
Are drawn and laced ; while round them and 

above. 



THE KING OF THE VASSE. 31 

When all is knit, tlie creeper rests for days 
As gathering might, and then one blinding blaze 
Of very glory sends, in wealth and strength, 
Of scarlet flowers o'er the forest's length ! 

Such scenes as these have subtile power to trace 
Their clear-lined impress on the mind and face ; 
And these strange simple folk, not knowing why, 
Grew more and more to silence ; and the eye, 
The quiet eye of Swedish gray, grew deep 
With listening to the solemn rustling sweep 
From wings of Silence, and the earth's great psalm 
Intoned forever by the forest's calm. 

But most of all was younger J.acob changed : 
From morn till night, alone, the woods he ranged, 
To kindred, pastime, sympathy estranged. 
Since that first day of landing from the ship 
When with the Pearl on brow and breast and lip 
The aged King had touched him and he rose. 
His former life had left hun, and he chose 
The woods as home, the wild, uncultured men 
As friends and comrades. It were better then, 



32 SOA'GS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

His bretliren said, the boy had truly died 
Than they should live to be by him denied, 
As now they were. He lived in sombre mood, 
He spoke no word to them, he broke no food 
That they did eat : his former life was dead, — 
The soul brought back was not the soul that 

fled! 
'Twas Jacob's form and feature, but the light ■ 
Within his eyes was strange unto their sight. 

His mother's grief was piteous to see : 

Unloving was he to the rest, but she 

Held undespairing hope that deep within 

Her son's changed heart was love that she might 

win 
By patient tenderness ; and so she strove 
For nine long years, but won no look of love I 

At last his brethren gazed on him with awe, 
And knew untold that from the form they saw 
Their brother's gentle mind was sure dispelled, 
And now a gloomy savage soul it held. 



THE KING OF THE VASSE. ZZ 

From tliat first day, close intercourse lie had 
With those who raised him up, — fierce men, 

unclad, 
Spear-armed and wild, in all their ways uncouth. 
And strange to every habit of his youth. 
His food they brought, his will they seemed to 

crave, 
The wildest bushman tended like a slave ; 
He worked their charms, their hideous chants he 

sung ; 
Though dumb to all his own, their guttural tongue 
He often spokeJu tones of curt command. 
And kinged it proudly o'er the dusky band. 

And once each year there gathered from afar 

A swarming host, as if a sudden war 

Had called them forth, and with them did they 

bring 
In solemn, savage pomp the white-haired King, 
Who year by year more withered was and weak ; 
And he would lead the youth apart and speak 



2* 



34 SOA'CS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

Some occult words, and from the carven case 
Would take the Pearl and touch the young man's 

face, 
And hold it o'er him blessing ; while the crowd, 
As on the shore, in dumb abasement bowed. 
And when the King had closed the formal rite, 
The rest held savage revelry by night, 
Round blazmg fires, with dance and orgies base, 
That roused the sleeping echoes of the place. 
Which down the forest vistas moaned the din, 
Like spirits pure beholding impious sin. 

Nine times they gathered thus ; but on the last 
The old king's waning life seemed well-nigh past. 
His feeble strength had failed : he walked no 

more. 
But on a woven spear-wood couch they bore 
With careful tread the form that barely gasped, 
As if the door of death nov hung unhasped. 
Awaiting but a breath to swing, and show 
The dim eternal plain that stretched below. 



THE KING OF THE VASSE. 35 

The tenth year waned : the cloistered Lush was 

stilled, 
The earth lay sleeping, while the clouds distilled 
In ghostly veil their blessing. Thin and white, 
Through opening trees the moonbeams cleft the 

night. 
And showed the sombre arches, taller far 
Than grandest aisles of built cathedrals are. 
And up those dim-lit aisles in sUence streamed 
Tall men with trailing spears, until it seemed, 
So many lines converged of endless length, 
A nation there was gathered in its strength. 

Around one spot was kept a spacious ring, 
Where lay the body of the white-haired King, 
Which all the spearmen gathered to behold 
Upon its spear-wood litter, stiff and cold. 
All naked, there the dusky corse was laid 
Beneath a royal tuad's mourning shade ; 
Upon the breast was placed the carven case 
That held the symbol of their ancient race, 



36 SOA'GS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

And eyes awe-stricken saw the mystic Thing 
That soon would clothe another as their King ! 
The midnight moon was high and white o'erhead, 
And threw a ghastly pallor round the dead 
That heightened still the savage pomp and state 
In which they stood expectant, as for Pate 
To move and mark with undisputed hand 
The one amongst them to the high command. 
And long they stood unanswered ; each on each 
Had looked in vain for motion or for speech : 
Unmoved as ebon-statues, grand and tall, 
They ringed the shadowy circle, silent all. 

Then came a creeping tremor, as a breeze 
With cooling rustle moves the summer trees 
Before the thunder crashes on the ear ; 
The dense ranks turn expectant, as they hear 
A sound, at first atar, but nearing fast ; 
The outer crowd divides, as waves are cast 
On either side a tall ship's cleaving bow, 
Or mould is parted by the fearless plough 
That leaves behind a passage clear and broad : 



THE KING OF THE VASSE. 37 

So through, the murmuring multitude a road 
Was cleft with power, up which in haughty swing 
A figure stalking broke the sacred ring, 
And stood beside the body of the King ! 

'Twas Jacob Eibsen, sad and gloomy-browed, 
Who bared his neck and breast, one moment 

bowed 
Above the corse, and then stood proud and tall. 
And held the carven case before them all ! 
A breath went upward like a smothered fright 
From every heart, to see that face, so white. 
So foreign to their own, but marked with might 
From source unquestioned, and to them divine ; 
Whilst he, the master of the mystic sign. 
Then oped the case and took the Pearl and raised, 
As erst the King had done, and upward gazed, 
As swearing fealty to God on high ! 

But ere the oath took form, there thrilled a cry 
Of shivering horror through the hush of night ; 
And there before him, blinded by the sight 



38 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

Of all his impious purpose, brave with love, 
His mother stood, arid stretched her arms above 
To tear the idol from her darling's hand ; 
But one fierce look, and rang a harsh command 
In Jacob's voice, that smote her like a sword. 
A thousand men sprang forward at the word, 
To tear +^he mother from the form of stone. 
And cast her forth ; but, as he stood alone. 
The keen, heart-broken wail that cut the air 
Went two-edged through him, half reproach, half 
prayer. 

But all unheeding, he nor marked her cry- 
By sign or look within the gloomy eye ; 
But round his body bound the carven case, 
And swore the fealty with marble face. 

As fades a dream before slow-waking sense, 
The shadowy host, that late stood fixed and dense, 
Began to melt ; and as they came erewhile, 
The streams flowed backward through each moon- 
lit aisle ; 



THE KING OF THE VASSE. 39 

And soon he stood alone within the place, 
Their new-made king, — their king with pallid face, 
Their king with strange foreboding and unrest, 
And half-formed thoughts, like dreams, within his 

breast. 
Like Moses' rod, that mother's cry of woe 
Had struck for water ; but the fitful flow 
That weakly welled and streamed did seem to 

mock 
Before it died forever on the rock. 

The sun rose o'er the forest, and his light 
Made still more dreamlike all the evil night. 
Day streamed his glory down the aisles' dim arch, 
All hushed and shadowy like a pillared church ; 
And through the lonely bush no living thing 
Was seen, save now and then a garish wing 
Of bird low-flying on its silent way. 

But woful searchers spent the weary day 
In anxious dread, and found not what they 
sought, — 



40 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

Their mother and their brother : evening brought 
A son and father to the lonesome place 
That saw the last night's scene ; and there, her face 
Laid earthward, speaking dumbly to her heart, 
They found her, as the hands that tore apart 
The son and mother flung her from their chief. 
And with one cry her heart had spent its grief. 

They bore the cold earth that so late did move 

In household happiness and works of love, 

Unto their rude home, lonely now ; and he 

Who laid her there, from present misery ' 

Did turn away, half-blinded by his tears, 

To see with inward eye the far-off years 

"When Swedish toU was light and hedgerows 

sweet ; 
Where, when the toil was o'er, he used to meet 
A simple gray-eyed girl, with sun-browned face. 
Whose love had won his heart, and whose sweet 

grace 
Had blessed for threescore years his humble life. 



THE KING OF THE VASSE. 4 1 

So Jacob Eibsen mourned his faithful wife, 

And found the world no home when she was gone. 

The days that seemed of old to hurry on 

Now dragged their course, and marred the wish 

that grew, 
When first he saw her grave, to sleep there too. 
But though to him, whose yearning hope outran 
The steady motion of the seasons' plan, 
The years were slow in coming, still their pace 
With awful sureness left a solemn trace, 
Like dust that settles on an open page, 
On Jacob Eibsen's head, bent down with age ; 
And ere twice more the soothing rains had come, 
The old man had his wish, and to his home. 
Beneath the strange trees' shadow where she lay. 
They bore the rude-made bier ; and from that day, 
When round the parent graves the brethren stood, 
Their new-made homesteads were no longer good, 
But marked they seemed by some o'erhanging 

dread 
That linked the living with the dreamless dead. 



42 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

Grown silent with the woods the men were all, 
But words were needed not to note the pall 
That each one knew hung o'er them. Duties 

now, 
With straying herds or swinging scythe, or plough, 
Were cheerless tasks : like men they were who 

wrought 
A weary toil that no repayment brought. 
And when the seasons came and went, and still 
The pall was hanging o'er them, with one will 
They yoked their oxen teams and piled the loads 
Of gear selected for the aimless roads 
That nature opens through the bush ; and when 
The train was ready, women -folk and men 
Went over to the graves and wept and prayed, 
Then rose and turned away, but still delayed 
Ere leaving there forever those poor mounds. 

The next bright sunrise heard 'the teamsters' 

sounds 
Of voice and whip a long day's march awaj' ; 
And wider still the space grew dayJby day 



THE KING OF THE VASSE. 43 

From their old resting-place : the trackless wood 
Still led them on with promises of good, 
As when the mirage leads a thirsty band 
With palm-tree visions o'er the arid sand. 

I know not where they settled down at last : 
Their lives and homes from out my tale have 

passed, 
And left me naught, or seeming naught, to trace 
But cheerless record of the empty place, 
Where long unseen the palm-thatched cabins stood, 
And made more lonely still the lonesome wood. 

Long lives of men passed over ; but the years. 
That line men's faces with hard cares and tears. 
Pass lightly o'er a forest, leaving there 
No wreck of young disease or old despair ; 
For trees are mightier than men, and Time, 
When left by cunning Sin and dark-browed 

Crime 
To work alone, hath ever gentle mood. 
Unchanged the pillars and the arches stood, 



^!4 sojvgs from the southern seas. 

But shadowed taller vistas ; and the earth, 
That takes and gives the ceaseless death and birth, 
Was blooming still, as once it bloomed before 
When sea-tired eyes beheld the beauteous shore. 

But man's best work is weak, nor stands nor 

grows 
Like Nature's simplest. Every breeze that blows, 
Health-bearing to the forest, plays its part 
In hasting graveward all his humble art. 

Beneath the trees the cabins still remained, 
By all the changing seasons seared and stained ; 
Grown old and weirdlike, as the folk might grow 
In such a place, who left them long ago. 

Men came, and wondering found the work of 

men 
Where they had deemed them first. The savage 

then 
Heard through the wood the axe's deathwatch 

stroke 
For him and all his people : odorous smoke 



THE KING OF THE VASSE. 45 

Of burning sandal rose where white men dwelt, 

Around the huts ; but they had shuddering felt 

The weird, forbidden aspect of the spot, 

And left the place untouched to mould and rot. 

The woods grew blithe with labor : all around, 

From point to point, was heard the hollow sound, 

The solemn, far-off clicking on the ear 

That marks the presence of the pioneer. 

And children, came like flowers to bless the toil 

That reaped rich fruitage from the virgin soil ; 

And through the woods they wandered fresh and 

fair, 
To feast on all the beauties blooming there. 
But always did they shun the spot where grew. 
From earth once tilled, the flowers of rarest hue. 
There wheat grown wild in rank luxuriance 

spread. 
And fruits grown native ; but a sudden tread 
Or bramble's fall would foul goanos wake. 
Or start the chilling rustle of the snake ; 
And diamond eyes of these and thousand more, ' 
Gleamed out from ruined roof and wall and floor. 



46 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

The new-come people, they whose axes rung 
Throughout the forest, spoke the English tongue, 
And never knew that men of other race 
From Europe's fields had settled in the place ; 
But deemed these huts were built some long-past 

day 
By lonely seamen who were cast away 
And thrown upon the coast, who there had built 
Their homes, and lived until some woe or guilt 
Was bred among them, and they fled the sight 
Of scenes that held a horror to the light. 

But while they thought such things, the spell that 

hung. 
And cast its shadow o'er the place, was strung 
To utmost tension that a breath would break, 
And show between the rifts the deep blue lake 
Of blessed peace, — as next to sorrow lies 
A stretch of rest, rewarding hopeful eyes. 
And while such things bethought this new-come 

folk. 
That breath was breathed, the olden spell was 

broke : 



THE KING OF THE VASSE. 47 

From far away ■within the unknown land, 
O'er belts of forest and o'er wastes of sand, 
A cry came thrilling, like a cry of pain 
From suffering heart and half-awakened brain ; 
As one thought dead who wakes within the tomb. 
And, reaching, cries for sunshine in the gloom. 

In that strange country's heart, whence comes the 

breath 
Of hot disease and pestilential death, 
Lie leagues of wooded swamp, that from the hills 
Seem stretching meadows ; but the flood that fills 
Those valley-basins has the hue of ink. 
And dismal doorways open on the brink. 
Beneath the gnarled arms of trees that grow 
All leafless to the top, from roots below 
The Lethe flood ; and he who enters there 
Beneath their screen sees rising, ghastly-bare, 
Like mammoth bones within a charnel dark. 
The white and ragged stems of paper-bark, 
That drip down moisture with a ceaseless drip, 
From lines that run like cordage of a ship ; 



48 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

For myriad creepers struggle to the light, 

.And twine and mat o'erhead in murderous 

fight 
For life and sunshine, like another race 
That wars on brethren for the highest place. 
Between the water and the matted screen, 
The baldhead vultures, two and two, are seen 
In dismal grandeur, with revolting face 
Of foul grotesque, like spirits of the place ; 
And now and then a spear-shaped wave goes by, 
Its apex glittering with an evil eye 
That sets above its enemy and prey, 
As from the Avave in treacherous, slimy way 
The black snake winds, and strikes the bestial bird. 
Whose shriek-like wailing on the hills is heard. 

Beyond this circling swamp, a circling waste 
Of baked and barren desert land is placed, — 
A land of awful grayness, wild and stark. 
Where man will never leave a deeper mark. 
On leagues of fissured clay and scorching stones, 
Than may be printed there by bleaching bones. 



THE KING OF THE VASSE. 49 

Within this belt, that keeps a savage guard, 
As round a treasure sleeps a dragon ward, 
A forest stretches far of precious trees ; 
Whence came, one day, an odor-laden breeze 
Of jam-wood bruised, and sandal sweet in smoke. 
For there long dwelt a numerous native folk 
In that heart-garden of the continent, — 
There human lives with aims and fears were 

spent, ^-^ — 

And marked by love and hate and peace and pain. 
And hearts well-filled and hearts athirst for gain, 
And lips that clung, and faces bowed in shame ; 
For, wild or polished, man is still the same. 
And loves and hates and envies in the wood. 
With spear and boka and with manners rude, 
As loves and hates his brother shorn and sleek, 
Who learns by lifelong practice how to speak 
With oily tongue, while in his heart below 
Lies rankling i^oison that he dare not show. 

Afar from all new ways this people "^dwelt. 
And knew no books, and to no God had knelt, 

3 



50 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

And had no codes to rule them writ in blood ; 
But savage, selfish, nomad-lived and rude, 
With human passions fierce from unrestraint, 
And free as their loose limbs ; with eVery tamt 
That earth can give to that which God has given ; 
Their nearest glimpse of Him, o'er-arching heaven, 
Where dwelt the giver and preserver, — Light, 
Who daily slew and still was slain by Night. 

A savage people they, and prone to strife ; 
•Yet men grown weak with years had spent a life 
Of peace unbroken, and their sires, long dead, 
Had equal lives of peace unbroken led. 
It was no statute's bond or coward fear 
Of retribution kept the shivering spear 
In all those years from fratricidal sheath ; 
But one it was who ruled them, — one whom 

Death 
Had passed as if he saw not, — one whose word 
Through all that lovely central land was heard 
And boAved to, as of yore the people bent, 
In desert wanderings, to a leader sent 



THE KING OF THE VASSE. 51 

To guide and guard tliem to a promised land. 
O'er all the Austral tribes lie held command, — 
A man unlike them and not of their race-, 
A man of flowing hair and pallid face, 
A man who strove by no deft juggler's art 
To keep his kingdom in the people's heart, 
Nor held his place by feats of brutal might 
Or showy skill, to please the savage sight ; 
But one who ruled them as a King of kings, 
A man above, not of them, — one who brings, 
To prove his kingship to the low and high, 
The inborn power of the regal eye ! 

Like him of Sinai with the stones of law. 

Whose people almost worshipped when they saw 

The veiled face whereon God's glory burned ; 

But yet who, mutable as water, turned 

From that veiled ruler who had talked with God, 

To make themselves an idol from a clod : 

So turned one day this savage Austral race 

Against their monarch with the pallid face. 

The young men knew him not, the old had heard 

In far-off days, from men grown old, a word 



52 solves FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

That dimly lighted up the mystic choice 
Of this their alien King, — how once a voice 
Was heard by their own monarch calling clear, 
And leading onward, where as on a bier 
A dead child lay upon a woman's knees ; 
Whom when the old King saw, like one who sees 
Far through the mist of common life, he spoke 
And touched him with the Pearl, and he awoke, 
And from that day the people owned his right 
To wear the Pearl and rule them, when the light 
Had left their old King's eyes. But now, they said, 
The men who owned that right were too long 

dead ; 
And they were young and strong and held their 

spears 
In idle resting through this white King's fears, 
Who still would live to rule them till they changed 
Their men tp puling women, and estranged 
To Austral hands the spear and coila grew. 

And so they rose against liim, and they slew 
The white-haired men who raised their hands to 
warn. 



THE KING OF THE VASSE. 53 

And true to ancient trust in warning fell, 
While O'er tliem rang the fierce revolters' yell. 
Then midst the dead uprose the King in scorn, 
Like some strong, hunted thing that stands at 

bay 
To win a brief but desperate delay. 
A moment thus, and those within the ring 
'Gan backward press from their unarmed King, 
Who swept his hand as though he bade them fly, 
And brave no more the anger of his eye. 
The heaying crowd grew still before that face, 
And watched him take the ancient carven case. 
And ope it there, and take the Pearl and stand 
As once before he stood, with upraised hand 
And upturned eyes of inward worshippiug. 

Awe-struck and dumb, once more they owned him 

King, 
And humbly crouched before him ; when a sound, 
A whirring sound that thrilled them, passed o'er- 

head. 
And with a spring they rose : a spear had sped 



54 SOA'GS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

With aim unerring and with deathful might, 
And split tlie awful centre of their sight, — 
The upraised Pearl ! A moment there it shone 
Before the spear-point, — then forever gone ! 



The spell that long the ruined huts did shroud 

Was rent and scattered, as a hangmg cloud 

In moveless air is torn and blown away 

By sudden gust uprising ; and one day 

When evening's lengthened shadows came to hush 

The children's voices, and the awful bush 

Was lapt in sombre stillness, and on high 

Above the arches stretched the frescoed sky, — 

When all the scene such chilling aspect wore 

As marked one other night long years before, 

When through the reaching trees the moonlight 

shone 
Upon a prostrate form, and o'er it one 
With kingly gesture. Now the light is shed 
No more on youthful brow and daring head, 



THE KING OF THE VASSE. 55 

But on a man grown weirdly old, whose face 

Keeps turning ever to some new-found place 

That rises up before him like a dream ; 

And not unlike a dreamer does he seem, 

Who might have slept, unheeding time's sure 

flow, 
And woke to find a world he does not know. 
His long white hair flows o'er a form low bowed 
By wondrous weight of years : he speaks aloud 
In garbled Swedish words, with piteous wist, 
As longrlost objects rise through memory's mist. 
Again and once again his pace he stays, 
As crowding images of other days 
Loom up before him dimly, and he sees 
A vague, forgotten friendship in the trees 
That reach their arms in welcome ; but agen 
These olden glimpses vanish, and dark men 
Are round him, dumb and crouching, and he 

stands 
With guttural sentences and upraised hands, 
That hold a carven case, — but empty now. 
Which makes more pitiful the aged brow 



56 SOA'GS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

Full-turned to tliose tall tuads that did hear 
A son's fierce mandate and a mother's prayer. 

Ah, God ! what memories can live of these, 
Save only with the half-immortal trees 
That saw the death of one, the other lost ? 

The weird-like figure now the bush has crost 
And stands within the ring, and turns and moans, 
With arms out-reaching and heart-piercing tones, 
And groping hands, as one a long time blind 
Who sees a glimmering light on eye and mind. 
From tree to sky he turns, from sky to earth, 
And gasps as one to whom a second bh^th 
Of wondrous meaning is an instant shown. 

Who is this wreck of years, who all alone, 
In savage raiment and with words unknown, 
Bows down like some poor penitent who fears 
The wrath of God provoked ? — this man who hears 
Around him now, wide circling through the wood, 
The breathing stillness of a multitude ? 



THE KING OF THE VASSE. 57 

Who catches dimly through his straining sight 
The misty vision of an impious rite ? 
Who hears from one a cry that rends his heart, 
And feels that loving arms are torn apart, 
And by his mandate fiercely thrust aside ? 
Who is this one who crouches where she died, 
With face laid earthward as her face was laid. 
And prays for her as she for him once prayed ? 

'Tis Jacob Eibsen, Jacob Eibsen's son, 
Whose occult life and mystic rule are done, 
And passed away the memory from his brain. 
'Tis Jacob Eibsen, who has come again 
To roam the woods, and see the mournful gleams 
That flash and linger of his old-time dreams. 

The morning found him where he sank to rest 
Within the mystic circle : on his breast 
With withered hands, as to the dearest place. 
He held and pressed the empty carven case. 

That day he sought the dwellings of his folk ; 
And when he found them, once again there broke 

3* 



$8 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

The far-off light upon him, and he cried 
From that wrecked cabin threshold for a guide 
To lead him, old and weary, to his own. 
And surely some kind spirit heard his moan, 
And led him to the graves where they were laid. 
The evening found hitn in the tuads' shade, 
And like a child at work upon the spot 
Where they were sleeping, though he knew it not. 

Next day the children found him, and they gazed 

In fear at first, for they were sore amazed 

To see a man so old they never knew, 

Whose garb was savage, and whose white hair 

grew 
And flowed upon his shoulders ; but their awe 
Was changed to love and pity when they saw 
The simple work he wrought at ; and they came 
And gathered flowers for him, and asked his 

name, 
And laughed at his strange language ; and he 

smiled 
To hear them laugh, as though himself a child. 



THE KING OF THE VASSE. 59 

Ere that brief day was o'er, from far and near 
The children gathered, wondering; and though 

fear 
Of scenes a long time shunned at first restrained, 
The spell was broken, and soon naught remained 
But gladsome features, where of old was dearth 
Of happy things and cheery sounds of mii'th. 
The lizards fled, the snakes and bright-eyed things 
Found other homes, where childhood never sings ; 
And all because poor Jacob, old and wild. 
White-haired and fur-clad, was himself a cliild. 
Each day he lived amid these scenes, his ear 
Heard far-off voices growing still more clear ; 
And that dim light that first he saw in gleams 
Now left him only in his troubled dreams. 

From far away the children loved to come 
And play and work with Jacob at his home. 
He learned their simple words with childish lip, 
And told them often of a white-sailed ship 
That sailed across a mighty sea, and found 
A beauteous harbor, all encircled round 



6o SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

With flowers and tall green trees; bat when they 

asked 
What did the shipmen then, his mind was tasked 
Beyond its strength, and Jacob shook his head, 
And with them laughed, for all he knew was said. 

The brawny sawyers often ceased their toil, 
As Jacob with the children passed, to smile 
With rugged pity on their simple play ; 
Then, gazing after the glad group, would say 
How strange it was to see that snowy hair 
And time-worn figure with the children fair. 

So Jacob Eibsen lived through years of joy, — 
A patriarch in age, in heart a boy. 
Unto the last he told them of the sea 
And white-sailed ship ; and ever lovingly, 
Unto the end, the garden he had made 
He tended daily, 'neath the tuads' shade. 

But one bright morning, when the children came 
And roused the echoes calling Jacob's name, 



THE KING OF THE VASSE. 6 1 

The echoes only answered back the sound. 

They sought within the huts, but nothing found 

Save loneliness and shadow, falling chill 

On every sunny searcher : boding ill, 

They tried each well-known haunt, and every 

throat 
Sent far abroad the bushman's cooing note. 
But all in vain their searching : twilight fell, 
And sent them home their sorrowing tale to tell. 
That night their elders formed a torch-lit chain 
To sweep the gloomy bush ; and not in vain, — 
For when the moon at midnight hung o'erhead, 
The weary searchers found poor Jacob — dead ! 

He lay within the tuad ring, his face 
Laid earthward on his hands ; and all the place 
Was dim with shadow where the people stood. 
And as they gathered there, the circling wood 
Seemed filled with awful whisperings, and stirred 
By things unseen ; and every bushman heard, 
From where the corse lay plain within their sight, 
A woman's heart- wail rising on the night. 



62 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

For over all the darkness and the fear 

That marked his life from childhood, shining clear, 

An arch, like God's bright rainbow, stretched 

above, 
And joined the first and last, — his mother's love. 

They dug a grave beneath the tuads' shade, 
Where all unknown to them the bones were laid 
Of Jacob's kindred ; and a prayer was said 
In earnest sorrow for the unknown dead, 
Round which the children grouped. 

Upon the breast 
The hands were folded in eternal rest ; 
But still they held, as dearest to that place 
Where life last throbbed, the empty carven case. 



THE DOG GUARD. 



Nation of sun and sin, 
Thy flowers and crimes are red, 
And thy heart is sore ivithin 
While the glory crovms thy head. 
Land of the songless birds. 
What was thine ancient crime. 
Burning through lapse of time 
Like a prophet 's cursing words ? 

Aloes and myrrh and tears ■ 
Mix in thy bitter wine : 
Drink, while the cup is thine. 
Drink, for the draught is sign 
Of thy reign in the coming years. 



65 



THE DOG GUARD: AN" AUSTRALIAN 
STORY. 

'T^HERE are lonesome places upon the earth 

That have never re-echoed a sound of mirth, 
Where the spirits abide that feast and quaff 
On the shuddering soul of a murdered laugh, 
And take grim delight in the fearful start, 
As their unseen fingers clutch the heart, 
And the blood flies out from the griping pain, 
To carry the chill through every vein ; 
And the staring eyes and the whitened faces 
Are a joy to these ghosts of the lonesome places. 

But of all the spots on this earthly sphere 
Where these dismal spirits are strong and near. 
There is one more dreary than all the rest, — 
'Tis the barren island of Rottenest. 
On Australia's western coast, you may — 
On a seaman's cliart of Fremantle Bay — , 



66 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

Find a tiny speck, some ten miles from shore : 
If the chart be good, there is something more, — 
For a shoal runs in on the landward side, 
With five fathoms marked for the highest tide. 
You have nought but my word for all the rest. 
But that speck is the island of Rottenest. 

'Tis a white sand-heap, about two miles long, 
And say half as wide ; but the deeds of wrong 
Between man and his brother that there took place 
Are sufficient to sully a continent's face. 
Ah, cruel tales ! were they told as a whole, 
They would scare your polished humanity's soul ; 
They would blanch the cheeks in your carpeted 

room. 
With a terrible thought of the merited doom 
For the crimes committed, still unredrest. 
On that white sand-heap called Rottenest. 

Of late years the island is not so bare 

As it was when I saw it first ; for there 

On the outer headland some buildings stand. 



THE DOG GUARD. 67 

And a flag, red-crossed, says tlie patcli of sand 
Is a recognized part of the wide domain 
That is blessed with the peace of Victoria's reign. 
But behind the lighthouse the land 's the same, 
And it bears grim proof of the white man's shame ; 
For the miniature vales that the island owns 
Have a horrible harvest of human bones ! 

And how did they come there ? that 's the word ; 
And I '11 answer it now with the tale I heard 
From the lips of a man who was there, and saw 
The bad end of man's greed and of colony law. 

Many years ago, when the white man first 
Set his foot on the coast, and was hated and cursed 
By the native, who had not yet learned to fear 
The dark wrath of the stranger, but drove his spear 
With a freeman's force and a bushman's yell 
At the white invader, it then befell 
That so many were killed and cooked and eaten, 
There was risk of the whites in the end being 
beaten \ 



68 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

So a plan was proposed, — 'twas deemed safest arid 

best 
To imprison the natives in Rottenest. 

And so every time there was white blood spilled, 
There were black men captured; and those not 

killed 
In the rage of vengeance were sent away 
To this bleak sand isle in Fremantle Bay ; 
And it soon came round that a thousand men 
Were together there, like wild beasts in a pen. 
There was not a shrub or grass-blade in the sand, 
Nor a piece of timber as large as your hand ; 
But a government boat went out each day 
To fling meat ashore — and then sailed away. 

For a year or so was this course pursued, 

Till 'twas noticed that fewer came down for food 

When the boat appeared ; then a guard lay round 

The island one night, and the white men found 

That the savages swam at the lowest tide 

To the shoal that lay on the landward side, — 



THE DOG GUARD, 69 

'Twas a mile from the beacli, — and then waded 

ashore ; 
So the settlers met in grave council once more. 

That a guard was needed was plain to all ; 

But nobody answered the Governor's call 

For a volunteer watch. They were only a few, 

And their wild young farms gave plenty to do ; 

And the council of settlers was breaking up, 

With a dread of the sorrow they 'd have to sup - 

When the savage, unawed, and for vengeance wild, 

Lay await in the wood for the mother and child. 

And with doleful countenance each to his neighbor 

Told a dreary tale of the world of labor 

He had, and said, " Let him watch who can, 

I can't ; " when there stepped to the front a 

man 
With a hard brown face and a burglar's brow. 
Who had learned the secret he uttered now 
When he served in the chain-gang in New South 

Wales. 
And he said to them : " Friends, as all else fails, 



yo SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

These 'ere natives are safe as if locked and barred, 
If you '11 line that shoal with a mastiff guard ! " 

And the settlers looked at each other awhile, 
Till the wonder toned to a well-pleased smile 
When the brown ex-burglar said he knew, 
And Avould show the whole of 'em Avhat to do. 

Some tliree weeks after, the guard was set ; 

And a native who swam to the shoal was met 

Bj two half-starved dogs, when a mile from 

shore, — 
And, somehow, that native was never seen more. 
All the settlers were pleased with the capital plan, 
And they voted their thanks to the hard-faced 

man. 
For a year, each day did the government boat 
Take the meat to the isle and its guard afloat. 
In a line, on the face of the shoal, the dogs 
Had a dry house each, on some anchored logs ; 
And the neck-chain from each stretched just half 

way 



THE DOG GUARD. 7 1 

To tlie next dog's house ; right across the Bay 
Ran a hne that was hideous with horrid sounds 
From the hungry throats of two hundred hounds. 

So one more year passed, and the brutes on the logs 
Had grown more like devils than common dogs. 
There was such a hell-chorus by day and night 
That the settlers ashore were chilled with fright 
When they thought — if that legion should break 

away, 
And come in with the tide some fatal day ! 

But they 'scaped that chance ; for a man came in 
From the Bush, one day, with a 'possum's skin 
To the throat filled up with large pearls he 'd found 
To the north, on the shore of the Shark's Bay 

Sound. 
And the settlement blazed with a wild commotion 
At sight of the gems from the wealthy ocean. 

Then the settlers all began to pack 

Their tools and tents, and to ask the track 



72 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

That the bushman followed to strike the spot, — 

While the dogs and natives were all forgot. 

In two days, from that camp on the River Swan, 

To the Shark's Bay Sound had the settlers gone ; 

And no merciful feeling did one retard 

For the helpless men and their terrible guard. 

It were vain to try, in my quiet room. 
To write down the truth of the awful doom 
That befell those savages prisoned there, 
When the pangs of hunger and wild despair 
Had nigh made them mad as the fiends outside : 
'Tis enough that one night, through the low ebb 

tide. 
Swam nine hundred savages, armed with stones 
And with weapons made from their dead friends' 

bones. 
Without ripple or sound, when the moon was gone. 
Through the inky water they glided on ; 
Swimming deep, and scarce daring to draw a breath, 
While the guards, if they saw, were as dumb as 

death. 



THE DOG GUARD. 73 

'Twas a terrible picture ! O God ! tliat the night 
Were so black as to cover the horrid sight 
From the eyes of the Angel that notes man's ways 
In the book that will ope on the Day of Days ! 

There were screams when they met, — shrill screams 

of pain ! 
For each animal swam at the length of his chain, 
And with parching throat and in furious mood 
Lay awaiting, not men, but his coming food. 
There were short, sharp cries, and a line of fleck 
As the long fangs sank in the swimmer's neck ; 
There were gurgling growls mixed with human 

groans. 
For the savages drave the sharpened bones 
Through their enemies' ribs, and the bodies sank. 
Each dog holding fast with a bone through his flank. 

Then those of the natives who 'scaped swam back; 
But too late ! for scores of the savage pack. 
Driven mad by the yells and the sounds of fight, 
Had broke loose and followed. On that dread night 

4 



74 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

Let the curtain fall : when the red sun rose 
From the placid ocean, the joys and woes 
Of a thousand men he had last eve seen 
Were as things or thoughts that had never been. 

When the settlers returned, — in a month or two, — 

They bethought of the dogs and the prisoned crew. 

And a boat went out on a tardy quest 

Of whatever was living on Rottenest. 

They searched all the isle, and sailed back agen 

With some specimen bones of the dogs and men. 



THE AMBER WHALE. 



Though it lash the shalloios that line the beach. 

Afar from the great sea deeps, 
TJiere is never a storm ivhose might caii reach 

Where the vast leviathan sleeps. 
Like a mighty thought in a giant mind. 

In the clear, cold depths he swims ; 
Whilst above him the j^ettiest form of his kind 

With a dash o'^er the surface skims. 

There is peace in power : the men loho speal 

With the loudest tongues do least ; 
And the surest sign of a viind that is weak 

Is its want of the power to rest. 
It is only the lighter water that flies 

From the sea on a icindy day ; 
And the deep blue ocean never replies 

To the sibilant voice of the spray. 



77 



THE AMBER WHALE: A HARPOONEE^'S 
STORY. 



[Whalemen have a strange belief as to the formation of amber. They 
Bay that it is a petrifaction of some internal part of a whale ; and they tell 
■weird stories of enormous whales seen in the warm latitudes, that were 
almost entirely transformed into the precious substance.] 



"XT ?"£ were down in the Indian Ocean, after 
sperm, and three years out ; 

The last six months in the tropics, and looking 
in vain for a spout, — 

Five men up on the royal yards, weary of strain- 
ing their sight ; 

And every day like its brother, — just morning and 
noon and night — 

Nothing to break the sameness : water and wind 
and sun 

Motionless, gentle, and blazing, — never a change 
in one. 



78 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

Every day like its brother : when the noonday 

eight-bells came, 
'Twas like yesterday; and we seemed to know 

that to-morrow would be the same. 
The foremast hands had a lazy time : there was 

never a thing to do ; 
The ship was painted, tarred down, and scraped ; 

and the mates had nothing new. 
We 'd worked at sinnet and ratline till there wasn't 

a yarn to use, 
And all we could do was watch and pray for a 

sperm whale's spout — or news. 
It was whaler's luck of the vilest sort ; and, though 

many a volunteer 
Spent his watch below on the look-out, never a 

whale came near, — 
At least of the kind we wanted : there were lots 

of whales of a sort, — 
Kniers and finbacks, and such like, as if they 

enjoyed the sport 
Of seeing a whale-ship idle ; but we never lowered 

a boat 



THE AMBER WHALE. 79 

For less than a blackfish, — there's no oil in a 

killer's or finback's coat. 
There was rich reward for the look-out men, — 

tobacco for even a sail, 
And a barrel of oil for the lucky dog who 'd be 

first to "raise" a whale. 
The crew was a mixture from every land, and many 

a tongue they spoke ; 
And when they sat in the fo'castle, enjoying an 

evening smoke, 
There were tales told, youngster, would make you 

stare, — stories of countless shoals 
Of devil-fish in the Pacific and right-whales away 

at the Poles. 
There was one of these fo'castle yarns that we 

always loved to hear, — 
Kanaka and Maori and Yankee ; all lent an eager 

ear 
To that strange old tale that was always new, — 

the wonderful treasure-tale 
Of an old Down -Eastern harpooneer who had 

struck an Amber Whale! 



8o SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

Ay, that was a tale worth hearing, lad : if 'twas 

true we couldn't say. 
Or if 'twas a yarn old Mat had spun to while the 

time away. 

" It 's just fifteen years ago," said Mat, " since I 

shipped as harpooneer 
On board a bark in New Bedford, and came cruis- 
ing somewhere near 
To this whaling-ground we 're cruising now ; but 

whales were plenty then. 
And not like now, when we scarce get oil to pay 

for the ship and men. 
There were none of these oil wells running then, — 

at least, what shore folk term 
An oil well in Pennsylvania, — but sulphur-bottom 

and sperm 
Were plenty as frogs in a mud-hole,.and all of 'em 

big "vyhales, too ; 
One hundred barrels for sperm-whales; and for 

sulphur-bottom, two. 
You couldn't pick out a small one : the littlest 

calf or cow 



THE AMBER WHALE. 8 1 

Had a siglit more oil than the big bull whales we 
think so much of now. 

We were more to the east, off Java Straits, a httle 
below the mouth, — 

A hundred and five to the east'ard and nine de- 
grees to the south ; 

And that was as good a whaling-ground for mid- 
dling-sized, handy whales 

As any in all the ocean ; and 'twas always white 
with sails 

From Scotland and Hull and New England, — for 
the whales were thick as frogs. 

And 'twas little trouble to kill 'em then, for they 
lay as quiet as logs. 

And every night we 'd go visiting the other whale- 
ships 'round, 

Or p'r'aps we 'd strike on a Dutchman, calmed off 
the Straits, and bound 

To Singapore or Batavia, with plenty of schnapps 
to sell 

For a few whale's teeth or a gallon of oil, and the 

latest news to tell. 
4* 



82 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

And in every ship of that whaling fleet was one 

wonderful story told, — • 
How an Amber Whale had been seen that year 

that was worth a mint of gold. 
And one man — mate of a Scotchman — said he 'd 

seen, away to the west, 
A big school of sperm, and one whale's spout was 

twice as high as the rest ; 
And we knew that that was the Amber Whale, for 

we 'd often heard before 
That his spout was twice as thick as the rest, and 

a hundred feet high or more. 
And often, when the look-out cried, ' He blows ! ' 

the very hail 
Thrilled every heart with the greed of gold, — for 

we thouQ-ht of the Amber Whale. 



"-But never a sight of his spout we saw till the sea- 
son there went round. 

And the ships ran down to the south'ard to an- 
other whaling-ground. 



THE AMBER WHALE. 83 

We stayed to the last off Java, and then we ran 

to tlie west, 
To get our recruits at Mauritius, and give the crew 

a rest. 
Five days we ran in the trade winds, and the boys 

were beginning to talk 
Of their time ashore, and whether they 'd have a 

donkey-ride or a walk, 
And whether they 'd spend their money in wine, 

bananas, or pearls, 
Or drive to the sugar plantations to dance with the 
' Creole girls. 
But they soon got something to talk about. Five 

days we ran west-sou'-west, 
But the sixth day's log-book entry was a change 

from all the rest ; 
For that was the day the mast-head men made 

every face turn pale, 
With the cry that we all had dreamt about, — ' He 

Blows ! the Ambee, Whale ! ' 



84 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

" And every man was motionless, and every speak- 
er's lip 

Just stopped as it was, with the word half -said : 
there wasn't a sound in the ship 

Till the Captain hailed the masthead, ' Whereaway 
is the whale you see ? ' 

And the cry came down again, ' He blows ! about 
four points on our lee. 

And three miles off, sir, — there he blows ! he 's 
going to leeward fast ! ' 

And then we sprang to the rigging, and saw the 
great whale at last! 

" Ah ! shipmates, that was a sight to see : the water 

was smooth as a lake. 
And there was the monster rolling, with a school of 

whales in his wake. 
They looked Hke pilot-fish round a shark, as if they 

were keeping guard ; 
And, shipmates, the s]oout of that Amber Whale 

was high as a sky-sail yard. 
There was never a ship's crew worked so quick as 

our whalemen worked that day, — 



THE AMBER WHALE. ^^i^ 

When tlie captain sliouted, ' Swing tlie boats, and 

be ready to lower away ! ' 
Then, ' A pull on the weather-braces, men ! let her 

head fall off three points ! ' 
And off she swung, with a quarter-breeze straining 

the old ship's joints. 
The men came down from the mastheads ; and the 

boats' crews stood on the rail. 
Stowing the lines and irons, and fixing paddles and 

sail. 
And when all was ready we leant on the boats and 

looked at the Amber's spout, 
That went up like a monster fountain, with a sort 

of a rumbhng shout. 
Like a thousand railroad engines puffing away their 

smoke. 
He was just like a frigate's hull capsized, and the 

swaying water broke 
Against the sides of the great stiff whale : he was 

steering south-by-west, — 
For the Cape, no doubt, for a whale can shape a 

course as well as the best. 



S6 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

We soon got close as was right to go ; for the school 

might hear a hail, 
Or see the bark, and that was the last of our Bank- 

of-England Whale. 
' Let her luff,' said the Old Man, gently. ' Now, 

lower away, my boys, 
And pull for a mile, then paddle, — and mind that 

you make no noise.' 

" A minute more, and the boats were down ; and 

out from the hull of the bark 
They shot with a nervous sweep of the oars, like 

dolphins away from a shark. 
Each officer stood in the stern, and watched, as he 

held the steering oar, 
And the crews bent down to their pulling as they 

never pulled before. 

" Our Mate was as thorough a whaleman as I ever 

met afloat ; 
And I was his harpooneer that day, and sat in the 

bow of the boat. 



THE AMBER WHALE. 8'J 

His eyes were set on tlie whales ahead, and lie spoke 

in a low, deep tone, 
And told tlie men to be steady and cool, and tlie 

whale was all our own. 
And steady and cool they proved to be : you could 

read it in every face, 
And in every straining muscle, that they meant to 

win that race. 
' Bend to it, boys, for a few strokes more, — bend to 

it steady and long ! 
Now, in with your oars, and paddles out, — all 

together, and strong ! ' 
Then we turned and sat on the gunwale, with our 

faces to the bow ; 
And the whales were right ahead, — no more than 

four ships' lengths off now. 
There were five of 'em, hundred-barrellers, like 

guards round the Amber "Whale. 
And to strike him we 'd have to risk being stove by 

crossing a sweeping tail ; 
But the prize and the risk were equal. ' Mat,' now 

whispers the Mate, 



88 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

' Are your irons ready ? ' ' Ay, ay, sir.' ' Stand up, 

then, steady, and wait 
Till I give the word, then let 'em fly, and hit him 

below the fin 
As he rolls to wind'ard. Start her, boys ! now 's 

the time to slide her in ! 
Hurrah ! that fluke just missed us. Mind, as soon 

as the iron 's fast, 
Be ready to back your paddles, — now in for it, boys, 

at last. 
Heave ! Again ! ' 

" And two u'ons flew : the fiirst one sank 

in the joint, 
'Tween the head and ^ump, — in the muscle ; but 

the second had its point . 
Turned off by striking the amber case, coming out 

again like a bow. 
And the monster carcass quivered, and rolled with 

pain from the first deep blow. 
Then he lashed the sea with his terrible flukes, and 

showed us many a sign 



THE AMBER WHALE. 89 

That his rage was roused. 'Lay off,' roared the 

Mate, ' and all keep clear of the line ! ' 
And that was a timely warning, for the whale made 

an awful breach 
Right out of the sea ; and 'twas well for us that the 

boat was beyond the reach 
Of his sweeping flukes, as he milled around, and 

made for the Captain's boat, 
That was right astern. And, shipmates, then my 

heart swelled up in my throat 
At the sight I saw : the Amber Whale was lash- 
ing the sea with rage. 
And two of his hundred-barrel guards were ready 

now to engage 
In a bloody fight, and with open jaws they came 

to their master's aid. 
Then we knew the Captain's boat was doomed ; but 

the crew were no whit afraid, — 
They were brave New England whalemen, — and 

we saw the harpooneer 
Stand up to send in his irons, as soon as the whales 

came near. 



90 SOA'GS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

Then we heard the Captain's order, ' Heave ! ' and 

saw the harpoon fly, 
As the whales closed in with their ox^en jaws : a 

shock, and a stifled cry 
"Was all that we heard ; then we looked to see if 

the crew were still afloat, — 
But nothing was there save a dull red patch, and 

the boards of the shattered boat I 

" But that was no time for mourning words : the 

other two boats came in. 
And one got fast on the quarter, and one aft the 

starboard fin 
Of the Amber Whale. For a minute he paused, as 

if he were in doubt 
As to whether 'twas best to run or fight. ' Lay 

on ! ' the Mate roared out, 
' And I '11 give him a lance ! ' The boat shot in ; 

and the Mate, when he saw his chance 
Of sending it home to the vitals, four times he 

buried his lance. 
A minute more, and a cheer went up, when we saw 

that his aim was good ; 



THE AMBER WHALE. 91 

For the lance had struck in a life-spot, and the whale 

was spouting blood ! 
But now came the time of danger, for the school of 

whales around 
Had aired their flukes, and the cry was raised, 

' Look out ! they 're going to sound ! ' 
And down they went with a sudden plunge, the 

Amber Whale the last, 
While the hues ran smoking out of the tubs, he 

went to the deep so fast. 
Before you could count your fingers, a hundred 

fathoms were out; 
And then he stopped, for a wounded whale must 

come to the top and spout. 
We hauled slack line as we felt him rise; and 

when he came up alone, 
And spouted thick blood, we cheered again, for we 

knew he was all our own. 
He was frightened now, and his fight was gone, — 

right round and round he spun, 
As if he was trying to sight the boats, or find the 

best side to run. 



92 SOA'CS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

But that was the miiiute for us to work : the boats 

hauled in their slack, 
And bent on the drag-tubs over the stern to tire 

and hold him back. 
The bark was five miles to wind'ard, and the mate 

gave a troubled glance 
At the sinking sun, and muttered, ' Boys, we must 

give lum another lance. 
Or he '11 run till night ; and, if he should head to 

wind'ard in the dark, 
We 'II be forced to cut loose and leave him, or else 

lose run of the bark.' 
So we hauled in close, two boats at once, but only 

frightened the whale ; 
And, like a hound that was badly whipped, he 

turned and showed liis tail, 
With his head right dead to wind'ard; then as 

straight and as swift he sped 
As a hungry shark for a swimming prey; and, 

bending over his head. 
Like a mighty plume, went his bloody spout. Ah ! 

shipmates, that was a sight 



THE AMBER WHALE. 93 

Worth a life at sea to witness. In his wake the sea 

was white 
As you 've seen it after a steamer's screw, churning 

up like foaming yeast ; 
And the boats went hissing along at the rate of 

twenty knots at least, 
With the water flush with the gunwale, and the 

oars were all apeak. 
While the crews sat silent and quiet, watching the 

long, white streak 
That was traced by the line of our passage. We 

hailed the bark as we passed, 
And told them to keep a sharp look-out from the 

head of every mast; 
' And if we 're not back by sundown,' cried the 

Mate, 'you keep a light 
At the royal cross-trees. If he dies, we may stick 

to the whale all night.' 

"And past we swept with our oars apeak, and 

waved our hands to the hail 
Of the wondering men on the taffi-ail, who were 

watching our Amber Whale 



94 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

As he surged ahead, just as if he thought he could 

tire his enemies out ; 
I was ahnost sorrowful, shipmates, to see after each 

red spout 
That the great whale's strength was failing: the 

sweep of his flukes grew slow, 
Till at sundown he made about four knots, and his 

spout was weak and low. 
Then said the Mate to his boat's crew : ' Boys, the 

vessel is out of sight 
To the leeward : now, shall we cut the line, or stick 

to the whale all night ? ' 
' We '11 stick to the whale ! ' cried every man. ' Let 

. the other boats go back 
To the vessel and beat to wind'ard, as well as they 

can, in our track.' 
It was done as they said : the lines were cut, and 

the crews cried out, ' Good speed ! ' 
As we swept along in the darkness, in the wake 

of our monster steed. 
That went plunging on, with the dogged hope that 

he 'd tire his enemies still, — 



THE AMBER WHALE. 95 

But even tlie strength, of an Amber Whale must 

break before human will. 
By little and little his power had failed as he 

spouted his blood away, 
Till at midnight the rising moon shone down on 

the great fish as he lay 
Just moving his flukes ; but at length he stopped, 

and raising his square, black head 
As high as the topmast cross-trees, swung round 

and fell over — dead! 

" And then rose a shout of triumph, — a shout that 

was more like a curse 
Than an honest cheer ; but, shipmates, the thought 

in our hearts was worse. 
And 'twas punished with bitter suffering. We 

claimed the whale as our own, 
And said that the crew should have no share of the 

wealth that was ours alone. 
We said to each other : We want their help till we 

get the whale aboard. 
So we '11 let 'em think that they '11 have a share till 

we get the Amber stored, 



96 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

And then we '11 pay them their wages, and send 

them ashore — or afloat^ 
If they show their temper. Ah ! shipmates, no 

wonder 'twas that boat 
And its selfish crew were cursed that night. Next 

day we saw no sail, 
But the wind and sea were rising. Still, we held 

to the di'ifting whale, — 
And a dead whale drifts to windward, — going 

farther away from the ship. 
Without water, or bread, or courage to pray with 

heart or Up 
That had planned and spoken the treachery. The 

wind blew into a gale. 
And it screamed like mocking laughter round our 

boat and the Amber Whale. 

" That night fell dark on the starving crew, and a 

hurricane blew next day; 
Then we cut the line, and we cursed the prize as it 

drifted fast away. 
As if some power under the waves were tovsdng it 

out of sight ; 



THE AMBER WHALE. 97 

And there we were, without helx3 or hope, dreading 

the coming night. 
Three days that hurricane lasted. When it passed, 

.two men were dead ; 
And the strongest one of the living had not strength. 

to raise his head. 
When his dreaming swoon was broken by the sound 

of a cheery hail, 
And he saw a shadow fall on the boat, — it fell 

from the old bark's sail ! 
And when he heard their kindly words, you 'd think 

he should have smiled 
With joy at his deliverance ; but he cried like a 

little child. 
And hid his face in his poor weak hands, — for he 

thought of the selfish plan, — 
And he prayed to God to forgive them aU. And, 

shipmates, I am the man ! — 
The only one of the sinful crew that ever beheld 

his home ; 
For before the cruise was over, all the rest were 

under the foam. 

5 



98 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

It 's just fifteen years gone, shipmates," said old 

Mat, ending his tale ; 
" And I often pray that I '11 never see another 

Amber Whale." 



THE DUKITE SNAKE. 



Love is a plant with double root. 

And of strange elastic power : 
Men's minds are divided in naming tlie fruit, 

But a kiss is only the flower. 



lOI 



THE DUKITE SNAKE: 

A WEST AUSTRALIAJSr BUSHMAN's STOKT. 

^T 7ELL, mate, you 've asked me about a fellow 

You met to-day, in a black-and-yellow 
Chain-gang suit, with a pedler's pack. 
Or with some such burden, strapped to his back. 
Did you meet him square ? No, passed you by ? 
Well, if you had, and had looked in liis eye, 
You 'd have felt for your irons then and there ; 
For the light in his eye is a madman's glare. 
A}^, mad, poor fellow ! I know him well, 
And if you 're not sleepy just yet, I '11 tell 
His story, — a strange one as ever you heard 
Or read ; but I '11 vouch for it, every word. 

You just wait a minute, mate : I must see 
How that damper 's doing, and make some tea. 



I02 sojVGs from the southern seas. 

You smoke ? That 's good ; for there 's plenty of 

weed 
In that wallaby skin. Does your horse feed 
In the hobbles ? Well, he 's got good feed here, 
And my own old bushmare won't interfere. 
Done with that meat? Throw it there to the 

dogs, 
And fling on a couple of banksia logs. 

And now for the story. That man who goes 
Through the bush with the pack and the convict's 

clothes 
Has been mad for years ; but he does no harm, 
And our lonely settlers feel no alartn 
When they see or meet him. Poor Dave Sloane -^ 
Was a settler once, and a friend of my own. 
Some eight years back, in the spring of the year, 
Dave came from Scotland, and settled here. 
A splendid young fellow he was just then. 
And one of the bravest and truest men 
That I ever met : he was kind as a woman 
To all who needed a friend, and no man — 



THE DUKITE SNAKE. IO3 

Not even a convict — met with liis scorn, 

For David Sloane was a gentleman born. 

Ay, friend, a gentleman, though it sounds queer : 

There 's plenty of blue blood' flowing out here. 

And some younger sons of your " upper ten " 

Can be met with here, first-rate bushmen. 

Why, friend, I — 

Bah ! curse that dog ! you see 
This talking so much has affected me. 

Well, Sloane came here with an axe and a gun ; , 

He bought four miles of a sandal-wood run. 

This bush at that time was a lonesome place, 

So lonesome the sight of a white man's face 

Was a blessing, unless it came at night, 

And peered in your hut, with the cunning fright 

Of a runaway convict ; and even they 

Were welcome, for talk's sake, while they could 

stay. 
Dave lived with me here for a while, and learned 
The tricks of the bush, — how the snare was laid 
In the wallaby track, how traps were made. 



I04 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

How 'possums and kangaroo rats were killed ; 

And when that was learned, I helped hun to build 

From mahogany slabs a good bush hut, 

And showed him how sandal-wood logs were cut. 

I lived up there with him days and days, 

For I loved the lad for his honest ways. 

I had only one fault to find : at first 

Dave worked too hard ; for a lad who was nursed, 

As he was, in idleness, it was strange 

How he cleared that sandal-woocV off his range. 

From the morning light till the light expired 

He was always working, he never tired ; 

Till at length I began to think his will 

Was too much settled on wealth, and still 

When I looked at the lad's brown face, and eye 

Clear open, my heart gave such thought the lie. 

But one day — for he read my mind — he laid 

His hand on my shoulder : " Don't be afraid," 

Said he, " that I 'm seeking alone for pelf. 

I work hard, friend ; but 'tis not for myself." 

And he told me then, in his quiet tone. 
Of a girl in Scotland, who was his own, — 



THE DUKITE SNAKE. 105, 

His wife, — 'twas for her : 'twas all he could say, 
And his clear eye brimmed as he turned away. 
After that he told me the simple tale : 
They had married for love, and she was to sail 
For Australia when he wrote home and told 
The oft-watched-for story of finding gold. 

In a year he wrote, and his news was good : 
He had bought some cattle and sold his wood. 
He said, " Darling,.! 've only a hut, — but come." 
Friend, a husband's heart is a true wife's home ; 
And he knew she 'd come. Then he turned his hand 
To make neat the house, and prepare the land 
For his crops and vines ; and he made that place 
Put on such a smiling and homelike face. 
That when she came, and he showed her round 
His sandal-wood and his crops in the ground, 
And spoke of the future, they cried for joy, 
The husband's arm clasping his wife and boy. 

Well, friend, if a little of heaven's best bliss 

Ever comes from the upper world to this, 
6* 



io6 sojvgs from the southern seas. 

It came into that manly bushman's life, 
And circled him round with the arms of his wife. 
God bless that bright memory ! Even to me, 
A rough, lonely man, did she seem to be, 
While living, an angel of God's pure love, 
And now I could pray to her face above. 
And David he loved her as only a man 
With a heart as large as was his heart can. 
I wondered how they could have lived apart, . 
For he was her idol, and she his heart. 

JFriend, there isn't much more of the tale to tell : 
I was talking of angels awliile since. Well, 
Now I '11 change to a devil, — ay, to a devil ! 
You need n't start : if a spirit of evil 
Ever came to this world its hate to slake 
On mankind, it came as a Dukite Snake. 

Like ? Like the pictures you 've seen of Sin, 
A long red snake, — as if what was within 
Was fire that gleamed through his glistening 
skin. 



THE DUKITE SNAKE. 107 

And his eyes ! — if you could go down to hell 
And come back to your fellows here and tell 
What the fire was like, you could find no thing, 
Here below on the earth, or up in the sky, 
To compare it to but a Dukite's eye ! 

Now, mark you, these Dukites don't go alone : 
There 's another near when you see but one ; 
And beware you of killing that one you see 
"Without finding the other ; for you may be 
More than twenty miles from the spot that night, 
When camped, but you 're tracked by the lone 

Dukite, 
That will follow your trail like Death or Fate, 
And kill you as sure as you killed its mate ! 

Well, poor Dave Sloane had his young wife here 
Three months, — 'twas just this time of the year. 
He had teamed some sandal-wood to the Vasse, 
And was homeward bound, when he saw in tl.9 

grass 
A long; red snake : he had never been told 



lo8 SONGS FRGM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

Of the Dukite's ways, — lie jumped to the road, 
And smashed its flat head with the bullock-goad ! 

He was proud of the red sMn, so he tied 

Its tail to the cart, and the snake's blood dyed 

The bush on the path he followed that night. 

He was early home, and the dead Dukite 
Was flung at the door to be skinned next day. 
At sunrise next morning he started away 
To hunt up his cattle. A three hours' ride 
Brought him back : he gazed on liis home with pride 
And joy in his heart ; he jumped from his horse- 
And entered — to look on his young wife's corse. 
And his dead child clutching its mother's clothes 
As in fright ; and there, as he gazed, arose 
From her breast, where 'twas resting, the gleaming 

head 
Of the terrible Dukite, as if it said, 
" Pve had vengeance^ my foe : you took all Ihad.''^ 

And so had the snake — David Sloans was mad I 



THE DUKITE SNAKE. 109 

jjjrocle to his liut just by chance that night, 
And there on the threshold the clear moonlight 
Showed the two snakes dead. I pushed in the 

door 
With an awful feehng of coming .woe : 
The dead were stretched on the moonlit floor, 
The man held the hand of his wife, — his pride, 
His poor life's treasure, — and crouched by her 

side. 

God ! I sank with the weight of the blow. 

1 touched and called him : he heeded me not, 
So I dug her- grave in a quiet spot. 

And lifted them both, — her boy on her breast, — 
And laid them down in the shade to rest. 
Then I tried to take my poor friend away, 
But he cried so wofully, " Let me stay 
Till she comes again ! " that I had no heart 
To try to persuade him then to part 
From all that was left to him here, — her grave ; 
So I stayed by his side that night, and, save 
One heart-cutting cry, he uttered no sound, — 
O God ! that wail — like the wail of a hound ! 



no SOuVGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

'Tis SIX long years since I heard that cry, 

But 'tAvill ring in my ears till the day I die. 

Since that fearful night no one has heard 

Poor David Sloane utter sound or word. 

You have seen to-day how he always goes : 

He 's been given that suit of convict's clothes 

By some prison officer. On liis back 

You noticed a load like a pedler's pack ? 

Well, that 's what he lives for : when reason went, 

Still memory Hved, for his days are spent 

In searching for Dukites ; and year by year 

That bundle of skins is growing. 'Tis clear 

That the Lord out of evil some good still takes ; 

For he 's clearing this bush of the Dukite snakes. 



THE MONSTER DIAMOND. 



Each virtuous act is a kernel soum 
That will grow to a goodly tree, 

Shedding its fruit when time has flown 
Down the gulf of eternity. 



113 



THE MONSTER DIAMOND: 

A TALE OF THE PENAL COLOJSTT OF WEST AUSTRALIA. 

" T 'LL have it, I tell you ! Curse you ! — there ! " 
The long knife ghtterecl, was sheathed, and 
was bare. 
The sawyer staggered and tripped and fell, 
And falling he uttered a frightened yell : 
HTis face to the sky, he shuddered and gasped, 
And tried to put from him the man he had grasped 
A moment before in the terrible strife. 
" I '11 have it, I tell you, or have your life ! 
Where is it? " The sawyer grew weak, but still 
His brown face gleamed with a desperate will. 
" Where is it ? " he heard, and the red knife's drip 
In his slayer's hand fell down on his lip. 
" Will yoii give it ? " " Never ! " A curse, the knife 
Was raised and buried. 



114 so JVC S FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

Thus closed the life 
Of Samuel Jones, known as " Number Ten " 
On his Ticket-of-Leave ; and of all the men 
In the Western Colony, bond or free, 
None had manlier heart or hand than he. 

In digging a sawpit, while all alone, — 

For his mate was sleeping, — Sam struck a stone 

With the edge of the spade, and it gleamed like 

fire. 
And looked at Sam from its bed in the mire, 
Till he dropped the spade and stooped and raised 
The wonderful stone that glittered and blazed 
As if it were mad at the spade's rude blow ; 
But its blaze set the sawyer's heart aglow 
As he looked and trembled, then turned him round, 
And crept from the pit, and lay on the ground, 
Looking over the mould-heap at the camp 
Where his mate still slept. Then down to the 

swamp 
He ran with the stone, and washed it bright, 
And felt like a drunken man at the sight 



THE MONSTER DIAMOND. IlS 

Of a diamond pure as spring- water and sun, 
And larger than ever man's eyes looked on ! 

Then down sat Sam with the stone on liis knees, 

And fancies came to him, like swarms of bees 

To a sugar-creamed liive \ and he dreamed awake 

Of the carriage and four in which he 'd take 

His pals from the Dials to Drury Lane, 

The silks and the satins for Susan Jane, 

The countless bottles of brandy and beer 

He 'd call for and pay for, and every year 

The dinner he 'd give to the Brummagem lads, — 

He 'd be king among cracksmen and chief among 

pads, 
And he 'd sport a — 

Over him stooped his mate, 
A pick in his hand, and his face all hate. 

Sam saw the shadow, and guessed the pick. 
And closed his dream with a spring so quick 
The purpose was baffled of Aaron Mace, 
And the sawyer mates stood face to face. 



Il6 SOA^GS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

Sam folded his arms across liis chest, 

Having thrust the stone in liis loose shirt-breast, 

While he tried to think where he dropped the spade. 

But Aaron Mace wore a long, keen blade 

In his belt, — he drew it, — sprang on liis man : 

What happened, you read when the tale began. 

Then he looked — the murderer, Aaron Mace — 
At the gray-blue lines in the dead man's face ; 
And he turned away, for he feared its frown 
More in death than life. Then he knelt liim down, — 
Not to pray, — but he shrank from the staring eyes, 
And felt in the breast for the fatal prize. 
And this was the man, and tliis was the way 
That he took the stone on its natal day ; 
And for tliis he was cursed for evermore 
By the West Australian Koh-i-nor. 

In the half-dug pit the corpse was thrown. 
And the murderer stood in the camp alone. 
Alone ? No, no ! never more was he 
To part from the terrible company 



THE MONSTER DIAMOND. I17 

Of that gray-blue face and the bleeding breast 
And the staring eyes in their awful rest. 
The evening closed on the homicide, 
And the blood of the buried sawyer cried 
Through the night to God, and the shadows dark 
That crossed the camp had the stiff and stark 
And horrible look of a murdered man ! 
Then he piled the fire, and crept within 
The ring of its light, that closed him in 
Like tender mercy, and drove away 
For a tune the spectres that stood at bay, 
And waited to clutch him as demons wait, 
Shut out from the sinner by Faith's bright gate. 
But the fire burnt low, and the slayer slept, 
And the key of his sleep was always kept 
By the leaden hand of liim he had slain. 
That oped the door but to drench the brain 
With agony cruel. The night wind crept 
Like a snake on the shuddering form that slept 
And dreamt, and woke and shrieked ; for there, 
With its gray-blue lines and its ghastly stare, 



Il8 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

Cutting into the vitals of Aaron Mace, 

In the flickering light was the sawyer's face I 

Evermore 'twas with him, that dismal sight, — 
The wliite face set in the frame of night. 
He wandered away from the spot, but found 
No inch of the West Austrahan ground 
Where he could liide from the bleeding breast, 
Or sink his head in a dreamless rest. 

And always with him he bore the prize 
In a pouch of leather : the staring eyes 
Might burn his soul, but the diamond's gleam 
Was solace and joy for the haunted dream. 

So the years rolled on, while the murderer's mind 
Was bent on a futile quest, — to find 
A way of escape from the blood-stained soil 
And the terrible wear of the penal toil. 

But tins was a part of the diamond's curse, — 
The toU^that was heavy before grew worse, 



THE MONSTER DIAMOND. 1 19 

Till the panting wretch in his fierce unrest 

Would clutch the pouch as it laj on his breast, 

And waking cower, with sob and moan, 

Or shriek wild curses against the stone 

That was only a stone ; for he could not sell, 

And he dare not break, and he feared to tell 

Of his wealth: so he bore it through hopes and 

fears — 
His God and his devH — for years and years. 

And thus did he draw near the end of his race, 
With a form bent double and horror-lined face. 
And a piteous look, as if asking for grace 
Or for kindness from some one ; but no kind word 
Was flung to his misery : shunned, abhorred. 
E'en by wretches themselves, till his life was a 

curse. 
And he thought that e'en death could bring nothing 

worse 
Than the phantoms that stirred at the diamond's 

weight, — 
His own life's ghost and the ghost of his mate. 



I20 SOA'CS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

So lie turned one day fi-om the haunts of men, 

And their friendless faces ; an old man then, 

In a convict's garb, with white flowing hair. 

And a brow deep seared with the word, " Despair." 

He gazed not back as his way he took 

To the untrod forest ; and oh ! the look. 

The piteous look in his sunken eyes. 

Told that life was the bitterest sacrifice. 

But little was heard of liis later days : 
'Twas deemed in the West that in change of ways 
He tried with his tears to wash out the sin. 
'Twas told by some natives who once came in 
From the Kojunup Hills, that lonely there 
They had seen a figure with long white hair ; 
They encamped close by where his hut was made, 
And were scared at night when they saw he prayed 
To the white man's God ; and on one wild night 
They had heard his voice till the morning light. 

Years passed, and a sandalwood-cutter stood 
At a ruined hut in a Kojunup wood : 



THE MONSTER DIAMOND. 121 

The raiik weeds covered tlie desolate floor, 
And an ant-hill stood on the fallen door ; 
The cupboard within to the snakes was loot, 
And the hearth was the home of the bandicoot. 
But neither at hut nor snake nor rat 
Was the woodcutter staring intent, but at 
A human skeleton clad in gray, 
The hands clasped over the breast, as they 
Had fallen in peace when he ceased to pray. 

As the bushman looked on the form, he saw 
In the breast a paper : he stooped to draw 
What might tell him the story, but at Ms touch 
From under the hands rolled a leathern pouch. 
And he raised it too, — on the paper's face 
He read " Ticket-of-Leave of Aaron Mace." 
Then he opened the pouch, and in dazed surprise 
At its contents strange he unblessed his eyes : 
' Twa8 a lump of quartz, — a pound weight in full, — 
And it fell from his hand on the skeleton's skull ! 



123 



HAUNTED BY TIGERS. 

"lyiATHAN BEANS and William Lambert were 

two wild New England boys, 
Known from infancy to revel only in forbidden 

joys- 
Many a mother of Nantucket bristled when she 

heard them come, 

With a horrid skulking whistle, tempting her good 

lad from home. 
But for all maternal bristling little did they seem to 

care. 
And they loved each other dearly, did this good-for- 
nothing pair. 

So they lived till eighteen summers found them in 
the same repute, — 

They had well-developed muscles, and loose char- 
acters to boot. 



I'24 SOA'GS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

Then they did what wild Nantucket boys have 

never failed to do, — 
Went and filled two oily bunks among a whaler's 

oily crew. 
And the mothers, — ah ! they raised their hands 

and blessed the lucky day, 
While Nantucket waved its handkerchief to see 

them sail away. 

On a four years' cruise they started in the brave old 

" Patience Parr," 
And were soon initiated in the mysteries of tar. 
There they found the truth that whalers' tales are 

unsubstantial wiles, — 
They were sick and sore and sorry ere they passed 

the Western Isles ; 
And their captain, old-man Sculpin, gave their 

fancies little scope, 
For he argued with a marlinspike and reasoned 

with a rope. 

But they stuck together bravely, they were Ish- 
maels with the crew : 



HAUNTED BY TIGERS. 1 25 

Nathan's voice was never raised but Bill's support 

was uttered too ; 
And whenever Beans was floored by Sculpin's cruel 

marlinspike, 
Down beside Mm went poor Lambert, for liis band 

was clenched to strike. 
So they passed two years in cruising, till one breath- 
less burning day 
The old "Patience Parr" in Sunda Straits* with 

flapping canvas lay. 
On her starboard side Sumatra's woods were dark 

beneath the glare, 
And on her ^^ort stretched Java, slumbering in the 

yellow air, — 
^lumbering as the jaguar slumbers, as the tropic 

ocean sleeps. 
Smooth and smiling on its surface with a devil in 

its deeps. 
So swooned Java's moveless forest, but the jungle 

round its root 



* The straits of Sunda, seven miles wide at the southern extremity, lie 
between Sumatra and Java. 



126 SOA'CS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

Knew the rustling anaconda and the tiger's padded 

foot. 
There in Nature's rankest garden, Nature's worst 

alone is rife, 
And a glorious land is wild-beast ruled for want of 

human life. 
Scarce a harmless thing moved on it, not a living 

soul was near 
J'rom the frowning rocks of Java Head right nortli- 

ward to Anjier. 
Crestless swells, like wmd-raised canvas, made the 

whaler rise and dip, 
Else she lay upon the water like a paralytic 

ship ; 
And beneath a topsail awning lay the lazy, languid 

crew, 
Drmking in the precious coolness of the shadow, — 

all save two : 
Two poor Ishmaels, — they were absent. Heaven 

help them ! — roughly tied 
'Neath the blistering cruel sun-glare in the fore- 
chains, side by side. 



HAUNTED BY TIGERS. 127 

Side by side as it was always, each one with a 

word of cheer 
For the other, and for his sake bravely choking 

back the tear. 
Side by side, their pain or pastime never yet seemed 

good for one ; 
But whenever pain came, each in secret wished the 

other gone. 

You who stop at home and saunter o'er your flower- 
scattered path, 

With life's corners velvet-cushioned, have you seen 
a tyrant's wrath ? — 

Wrath, the rude and reckless demon, not the 
drawing-room display 

Of an anger led by social lightning-rods upon its 
way. 

Ah ! my friends, wrath's raw materials on the land 
may sometimes be. 

But the manufactured article is only found at sea. 

And the wrath of old-man Sculpin was of texture 
Number One : 



128 sojvgs from the southern seas. 

Never absent, — when the man smiled it was hid- 
den, but not gone. 

Old church-members of Nantucket knew him for a 
shining lamp, 

But his chronic Christian spirit was of pharisaic 
stamp. 

"When ashore, he prayed aloud of how he 'd sinned 
and been forgiven, — 

How his evil ways had brought him 'thin an ace of 
losing heaven ; 

Thank the Lord ! his eyes were opened, and so on ; 
but when the ship 

"Was just ready for a voyage, you could see old 
Sculpin's lip 

Have a sort of nervous tremble, like a carter's long- 
leashed whip 

Ere it cracks ; and so the skipper's lip was trem- 
bling for an oath 

At the watch on deck for idleness, the watch below 
for sloth. 

For the leash of his anathemas was long enough for 
both. 



HAUNTED BY TIGERS. 1 29 

Well, 'twas burning noon off Java: Beans and 

Lambert in the chains 
Sank tlieip beads, and all was silent but the voices 

of their pains. 
Nigbt came ere tbeir bonds were loosened; then 

tlie boys sank down and slept. 
And tlie dew in place of loved ones on their 

wounded bodies wept. 

All was still within the whaler, — on the sea no 

fanning breeze, 
And the moon alone was moving over Java's gloomy 

trees. 
Midnight came, — one sleeper's waking glance went 

out the moon to meet : 
Nathan rose, and turned from Lambert, who still 

slumbered at his feet. 
Out toward Java went his vision, as if something 

in the air 
Came with promises of kindness and of peace to 

be found there. 

6* 



I30 SO.VGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

Then towards the davits moved he, where the 
lightest whale-boat hung ; 

And he worked with silent caution till upon the 
sea she swung, 

When he paused, and looked at Lambert, and the 
spirit in him cried 

Not to leave him, but to venture, as since child- 
hood, side by side ; 

And the spuit's cry was answered, for he touched 
the sleeper's lip. 

Who awoke and heard of Nathan's plan to leave 
th' accursed ship. 

When 'twas told, they rose in silence, and looked 

outward to the land, 
But they only saw Nantucket, with its homely, 

boat-lined strand ; 
But they saw it — oh ! so plainly — through the 

glass of coming doom. 
Then they crept into the whale-boat, and pulled 

toward the forest's gloom, — 
All their suffering clear that moment, like the 

moonlight on their wake, 



HAUNTED BY TIGERS. 131 

Now contracting, now expanding, like a pliospho- 
rescent snake. 

Hours speed on : tlie dark horizon yet shows scarce 
a streak of gray 

When old Sculpin comes on deck to walk his rest- 
lessness away. 

All the scene is still and solemn, and mayhap the 
man's cold heart 

Feels its teaching, for the wild-beast cries from 
shoreward make him start 

As if they had warnmg in them, and he o'er its 
meaning pored. 

Till at length one shriek from Java sphts the dark- 
ness like a sword ; 

And he almost screams in answer, such the nearness 
of the cry, 

As he clutches at the rigging with a horror in his 
eye, 

And with faltering accents mutters, as against the 
mast he leans, 

*' Darn the tigers ! that one shouted with the voice of 
Nathan Beans!" 



y 



132 SOA'GS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

When the boys were missed soon after, Sculpin 

never breathed a word 
Of his terror in the morning at the fearful sound 

he 'd heard ; 
But he entered in the log-book, and 'twas witnessed 

by the mates, 
Just their names, and following after, " Ran away 

in Sunda Straits." 

Two years after. Captain Sculpin saw again the 

Yankee shore, 
With the comfortable feehng that he 'd go to sea no 

more. 
And 'twas strange the way he altered when he saw 

Nantucket light : 
Holy lines spread o'er his face, and chased the old 

ones out of sight. 
And for many a year thereafter did his zeal spread 

far and wide, 
And with all his pious doings was the township 

edified; 



HAUNTED BY TIGERS. 133 

For he led the sacred singing in an unctuous, nasal 

tone, 
And he looked as if the sermon and the Scriptures 

were his own. 

But one day the white-haired preacher spoke of 

how God's justice fell 
Soon or late with awful sureness on the man whose 

heart could tell 
Of a wrong done to the widow or the orphan, and 

he said 
That such wrongs were ever living, though the 

injured ones were dead. 
And old Sculpm's heart was writhing, though his 

heavy eyes were closed, — 
For, despite his solemn sanctity, at sermon times he 

dozed ; 
But his half-awakened senses heard the preacher 

speak of death 
And of wrongs done unto orphans, and he dreamed 

with wheezing breath 



134 SOA'GS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

That cold hands were tearing from his heart its 

pharisaic screens, 
That the preacher was a tiger with the voice of 

Nathan Beans ! 
And he shrieked and jumped up wildly, and upon 

the seat stood he, 
As if standing on the whaler looking outward on 

the sea; 
And he clutched as at the rigguig with a horror in 

his eye. 
For he saw the woods of Java and he heard that 

human cry, 
As he crouched and cowered earthward. And the 

simple folk around 
Stood with looks of kindly sympathy : they raised 

him from the ground. 
And they brought him half unconscious to the hum- 
ble chapel door, 
Whence he fled as from a scourging, and he entered 

it no more ; 
For the sight of that old preacher brought the 

horror to liis face, 



HAUNTED BY TIGERS. 1 35 

And lie dare not meet his neighbors' honest eyes 

within the place, 
For his conscience like a mirror rose and showed 

the dismal scenes, 
Where the tiger yelled for ever with the voice of 

Nathan Beans. 



^37 



WESTERN AUSTRALIA. 

r\ BEAUTEOUS Southland! land of yellow 
air, 

That hangeth o'er thee slumbering, and doth hold 
The moveless foliage of thy valleys fair 

And wooded hills, like aureole of gold. 

O thou, discovered ere the fitting time, 

Ere Nature in completion turned thee forth I 

Ere aught was finished but thy peerless chme, 
Thy virgin breath allured the amorous North. 

O land, God made thee wondrous to the eye ! 

But His sweet singers thou hast never heard ; 
He left thee, meaning to come by-and-bye, 

And give rich voice to every bright-winged bird. 



138 SO.YGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

He painted with fresh hues thy myriad flowers, 
But left them scentless : ah ! their woful dole, 

Like sad reproach of theii' Creator's powers, — 
To make so sweet fair bodies, void of soul. 

He gave thee trees of odorous precious wood ; 

But, midst them all, bloomed not one tree of fruit. 
He looked, but said not that His work was good. 

When leaving thee all perfumeless and mute. 

He blessed thy flowers with honey : every bell 
Looks earthward, sunward, with a yearning wist ; 

But no bee-lover ever notes the swell 

Of hearts, like lips, a-hungering to be kist. 

O strange land, thou art virgin ! thou art more 
Than fig-tree barren ! Would that I could i)aint 

For others' eyes the glory of the shore 

Where last I saw thee ; but the senses faint 



WESTERN AUSTRALIA. I39 

In soft delicious dreaming when they drain 
Thy wine of color. Virgin fair thou art, 

All sweetly fruitful, waiting with soft pain 

The spouse who comes to wake thy sleeping 
heart. 



[40 



GOLU. 

ONCE I had a little sweetheart 
In the land of the Malay, — 
Such a little yellow sweetheart ! 
Warm and peerless as the day 
Of her own dear sunny island, 
Keimah, in the far, far East, 
Where the mango and banana 
Made us many a meny feast. 

Such a little copper sweetheart 

Was my Golu, plump and round. 
With her liair all blue-black streaming 

O'er her to the very ground. 
Soft and clear as dew-drop clinging 

To a grass blade was her eye ; 
For the heart below was purer 

Than the liiU-stream whispering by. 



GOLU. 14^ 

Costly robes were not for Golu : 

No more raiment did she need 
Than the milky budding breadfruit, 

Or the lily of the mead ; -. 

And she was my little sweetheart 

Many a sunny summer day, 
When we ate the fragrant guavas, 

In the land of the Malay. 

Life was laughing then. Ah ! Golu, 

Do you think of that old time, 
And of all the tales I told you 

Of my colder Western clime ? 
Do you think how happy were we 

When we sailed to strip the palm. 
And we made a latteen arbor 

Of the boat-sail in the calm ? 

They may call you semi-savage, 

Golu ! I cannot forget 
How I poised my little sweetheart 

Like a copper statuette. 



142 SOA'GS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

Now my path lies through the cities ; 

But they cannot drive away 
My sweet dreams of little Golu 

And the land of the Malay. 



143 



CHUNDER ALI'S WIFE. 

FROM THE HINDOSTANEE. 

"T AM poor," said Chunder Ali, while the Man- 
darin above him 

Frowned in supercilious anger at the dog who 
dared to speak ; 

" I am friendless and a Hindoo : such a one meets 
few to love him 

Here in China, where the Hindoo finds the truth 
alone is weak. 

I have naught to buy your justice ; were I wise, I 
had not striven. 

Speak your judgment ; " and he crossed his arms 
and bent his quivering face. 



144 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

Heard he then the unjust sentence : all his goods 

and gold were given 
To another, and he stood alone, a beggar in the 

place. 

And the man who bought the judgment looked 

in triumph and derision 
At the cheated Hindoo merchant, as he rubbed 

his hands and smiled 
At the whispered gratulation of his friends, and at 

the vision 
Of the more than queenly dower for Ahmeer, his 

only child. 
Fair Ahmeer, who of God's creatures was the only 

one who loved him, 
She, the diamond of his treasures, the one lamb 

within his fold. 
She, whose voice, like her dead mother's, was the 

only power that moved him, — 
She would praise the skill that gained her all this 

Hindoo's silk and gold. 
And the old man thanked Confucius, and the judge, 

and him who pleaded. 



CHUNDER ALPS WIFE. 145 

But wliy falls this sudden silence ? why does each 

one hold his breath ? 
Every eye turns on the Hindoo, who before was 

all unheeded, 
And in wond'ring expectation all the court grows 

still as death. 

Not alone stood Chunder Ali : by his side Ahmeer 

was standing, 
And his brown hand rested lightly on her shoulder 

as he smiled 
At the sweet young face turned toward him. Then 

the father's voice commanding 
Fiercely bade his daughter to him from the dog 

whose touch defiled. 
But she moved not, and she looked not at her father 

or the others 
As she answered, with her eyes upon the Hindoo's 

noble face : 
" Nay, my father, he defiles not : this kind arm above 

all others 
Is my choosing, and forever by his side shall be my 

place. 



146 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

When you knew not, his dear hand had given many 

a sweet love-token, 
He had gathered all my heartstrings and had bound 

them round his life ; 
Yet you tell me he defiles me : nay, my. father, you 

have spoken 
In your anger, and not knowing I was Chunder 

All's wife." 



147 



HIDDEN SINS. 

ipOR every sin that comes before the light, 

And leaves an outward blemish on the soul, 
How many, darker, cower out of sight. 

And burrow, blind and silent, like the mole. 
And like the mole, too, with its busy feet 

That dig and dig a never-ending cave. 
Our hidden sins gnaw through the soul, and meet 

And feast upon each other in its grave. 

A buried sin is like a covered sore 

That spreads and festers 'neath a painted face ; 
And no man's art can heal it evermore, 

But only His — the Surgeon's — promised grace. 
Who hides a sin is like the hunter who 

Once warmed a frozen adder with his breath. 
And when he placed it near his heart it flew 

With poisoned fangs and stung that heart to death. 



14^ SO.VGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

A sculptor once a granite statue made, 

One-sided only, just to fit its place : 
The unseen side was monstrous ; so men shade 

Their evil acts behind a smiling face. 
O blind ! O foolish ! thus our sins to hide, 

And force our pleading hearts the gall to sip ; 
O cowards ! who must eat the myrrh, that Pride 

May smile like Virtue with a lying lip. 

A sin admitted is nigh half atoned ; 

And while the fault is red and freshly done, 
If we but drop our eyes and think, — 'tis owned, - 

'Tis half forgiven, half the crown is won. 
But if we heedless let it reek and rot, 

Then pile a mountam on its grave, and turn. 
With smiles to all the world, — that tainted spot 

Beneath the mound will never cease to burn. 



149 



UNSPOKEN WORDS. 

'THHE kindly words that rise within the heart, 

And thrill it with their sympathetic tone, 
But die ere spoken, fail to play their part. 

And claim a merit that is not their own. 
The kindly word unspoken is a sin, — 

A sin that wraps itself in purest guise. 
And tells the heart that, doubting, looks within. 

That not in speech, but thought, the virtue lies. 

But 'tis not so : another heart may thirst 

For that kind word, as Hagar in the wild — 
Poor banished Hagar ! — prayed a well might burst 

From out the sand to save her parching chUd. 
And loving eyes that cannot see the mind 

Will watch the expected movement of the lip : 
Ah ! can ye let its cutting silence wind 

Around that heart, and scathe it like a whip ? 



150 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

Unspoken words, like treasures in the mine, 

Are valueless until we give them birth : 
Like unfound gold their hidden beauties shine, 

Which God has made to bless and gild the earth. 
How sad 'twould be to see a master's hand 

Strike glorious notes upon a voiceless lute ! 
But oh ! what pain when, at God's own command, 

A heart-string thrills with kindness, but is mute ! 

Then hide it not, the music of the soul. 

Dear sympathy, expressed with kindly voice, 
But let it like a shining river roll 

To deserts dry, — to hearts that would rejoice. 
Oh ! let the symphony of kindly words 

Sound for the poor, the friendless, and the weak ; 
And He will bless you, — He who struck these 
chords 

Will strike another when in turn you seek. 



151 



MY NATIVE LAND. 

TT chanced to me upon a time to sail 

Across the Southern Ocean to and fro ; 
And, landing at fair isles, by stream and vale 

Of sensuous blessing did we ofttimes go. 
And months of dreamy joys, like joys in sleep, 

Or like a clear, calm stream o'er mossy stone, 
Unnoted passed our hearts with voiceless sweep, 

And left us yearning still for lands unknown. 

And when we found one, — for 'tis soon to find 
In thousand-isled Cathay another isle, — 

For one short noon its treasures filled the mind. 
And then again we yearned, and ceased to smile. 

And so it was, from isle to isle we passed, 
Like wanton bees or boys on flowers or lips ; 



152 MY NATIVE LAND. 

And when that all was tasted, then at last 
We thirsted still for draughts instead of sips. 

I learned from this there is no Southern land 

Can fill with love the hearts of Northern men. 
Sick minds need change ; but, when in health they 
stand 

'Neath foreign skies, their love flies home agen. 
And thus with me it %as : the yearning turned 

From laden airs of cinnamon away, 
And stretched far westward, while the full heart 
burned 

With love for Ireland, looking on Cathay I 

My first dear love, all dearer for thy grief ! 

My land, that has no peer in all the sea 
For verdure, vale, or river, flower or leaf, — 

If first to no man else, thou 'rt first to me. 
New loves may come with duties, but the first 

Is deepest yet, — the mother's breath and smiles : 
Like that kind face and breast where I was nursed 

Is my poor land, the Niobe of isles. 



153 



THE POISON-FLOWER. 

TN the evergreen sliade of an Austral wood, 
Where the long branches laced above, 
Through which all day it seemed 
The sweet sunbeams down-gleamed 
Like the rays of a young mother's love, 
When she hides her glad face with her hands and 
peeps 
At the younghng that crows on her knee : 
'Neath such ray-shivered shade, 
In a banksia glade, 
Was this flower first shown to me. 

A rich pansy it was, with a small white lip 
And a wonderful purple hood ; 
And your eye caught the sheen 
Of its leaves, parrot-green, 
Down the dim gothic aisles of the wood. 
And its foliage rich on the moistureless sand 

7* 



154 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

Made you long for its odorous breath ; 

But ah ! 'twas to take 

To your bosom a snake, 
For its pestilent fragrance was death. 

And I saw it again, in a far northern land, — 
Not a pansy, not purple and white ; 

Yet in beauteous guise 

Did this poison-plant rise. 
Fair and fatal again to my sight. 
And men longed for her kiss and her odorous breath 
When no friend was beside them to tell 

That to kiss was to die. 

That her truth was a lie, 
And her beauty a soul-killing spell. 



155 



MY MOTHER'S MEMORY. 

'T^HERE is one bright star in heaven 

Ever shining in my night ; 
God to me one guide has given, 

Like the sailor's beacon-light, 
Set on every shoal and danger, 

Sending out its warning ray 
To the home-bound weary stranger 

Looking for the land-locked bay. 

In my farthest, wildest wanderings 
I have turned me to that love, 

As a diver, 'neath the water. 
Turns to watch the light above. 



^5^ 



THE OLD SCHOOL CLOCK. 

/^LD memories rusli o'er my mind just now 

Of faces and friends of the past ; 
Of that happy time when life's dream was all bright. 

Ere the clear sky of youth was o'ercast. 
Very dear are those mem'ries, — they 've clung 
round my heart, 
And bravely withstood Time's rude shock ; 
But not one is more hallowed or dear to me now 
Than the face of the old school clock. 

'Twas a quaint old clock with a quaint old face, 

And great iron weights and chain ; 
It stopped when it liked, and before it struck 

It creaked as if 'twere in pain. 



THE OLD SCHOOL CLOCK. 157 

It had seen many years, and it seemed to say, 

" I 'm one of the real old stock," 
To the youthful fry, who with reverence looked 

On the face of the old school clock. 

How many a time have I labored to sketch 

That yellow and time-honored face, 
With its basket of flowers, its figures and hands, 

And the weights and the chains in their place ! 
How oft have I gazed with admiring eye, 

As I sat on the wooden block. 
And pondered and guessed at the wonderful things 

That were inside that old school clock I 

What a terrible frown did the old clock wear 

To the truant, who timidly cast 
An anxious eye on those merciless hands, 

That for him had been moving too fast I 
But its frown soon changed ; for it loved to smile 

On the thoughtless, noisy flock, . 
And it creaked and whirred and struck with glee, — 

Did that genial, good-humored old clock. 



15^ SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

Well, years had passed, and my mind was filled 

With the world, its cares and ways, 
When again I stood in that little school 

Where I passed my boyhood's days. 
My old friend was gone! and there hung a thing 

That my sorrow seemed to mock. 
As I gazed with a tear and a softened heart 

At a new-fashioned Yankee clock. 

'Twas a gaudy thing with bright painted sides, 

And it looked with insolent stare 
On the desks and the seats and on every thing old ; 

And I thought of the friendly air 
Of the face that I missed, with its weights and 
chains, — 

All gone to the auctioneer's block : 
'Tis a thing of the past, — never more shall I see 

But in memory that old school clock. 

'Tis the way of the world : old friends pass away, 

And fresh -faces arise in their stead ; 
But still 'mid the din and the bustle of life 

We cherish fond thoughts of the dead. 



THE OLD SCHOOL CLOCK. 159 

Yes, dear are those mem'ries : they 've clung round 
my heart, 

And bravely withstood Time's rude shock ; 
But not one is more hallowed or dear to me now 

Than the face of that old school clock. 



i6o 



A LEGEND OF THE BLESSED VIRGIN. 

[The legend is taken from an old miracle-play of the fifteenth century, 
a reference to which is to be found in Kev. Mr. Hudson's late excellent 
book on Shakespeare's Times and Characters. The author had turned the 
legend into verse before he perceived that it differed essentially from 
the Scripture narrative, its aaitiquity misleading him.] 

nr^HE day of Joseph's marriage unto Mary, 

In thoughtful mood he said unto his wife, 
" Behold, I go into a far-off country 

To labor for thee, and to make thy life 
And home all sweet and peaceful." And the Virgin 

Unquestioning beheld her spouse depart : 
Then Kved she many days of musing gladness, 
Not knowing that God's hand was round her 
heart. 

And dreaming thus one day within her chamber, 
She wept with speechless bliss, when lo ! the face 

Of white-winged angel Gabriel rose before her, 
And bowing spoke, " Hail ! Mary, full of grace, 



A LEGEND OF THE BLESSED VIRGIN. l6l 

The Lord is with thee, and among the nations 
Forever blessed is thy chosen name." 

The angel vanished, and the Lord's liigh Presence 
With untold glory to the Virgin came. 

A season passed of joy unknown to mortals, 

When Joseph came with what his toil had won, 
And broke the brooding ecstasy of Mary, 

Whose soul was ever with her promised Son. 
But nature's jealous fears encircled Joseph, 

And round his heart in darkening doubts held 
sway. 
He looked upon his spouse cold-eyed, and pondered 

How he could put her from his sight away. 

And once, when moody thus within his garden, 

The gentle girl besought for some ripe fruit 
That hung beyond her reach, the old man an- 
swered. 
With face averted, harshly to her suit : 
" I will not serve thee, woman ! Thou hast wronged 
me: 



1 62 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

I heed no more thy words and actions mild ; 
If fruit thou wantest, thou canst henceforth ask it 
From him, the father of thy unborn child ! " 

But ere the words had root within her hearing, 

The Virgin's face was glorified anew ; 
And Joseph, turning, sank within her presence, 

And knew indeed his wondrous dreams were 
true. 
For there before the sandalled feet of Mary 

The kingly tree had bowed its top, and she 
Had pulled and eaten from its prostrate branches, 

As if unconscious of the mystery. 



163 



THE WRECK OF THE ATLANTIC. 

T7OR months and years, with penury and want 

-■- And heart-sore envy did they dare to cope ; 

And mite by mite was saved from earnings scant, 

To buy, some future day, the God-sent hope. 

They trod the crowded streets of hoary towns, 
Or tilled from year to year the wearied fields, 

And in the shadow of the golden crowns 

They gasped for sunshine and the health it yields. 

They turned from homes all cheerless, child and 
man. 

With kindly feelings only for the soil, 
And for the kindred faces, pinched and wan, 

That prayed, and stayed, unwilling, at their toil. 

They lifted up their faces to the Lord, 

And read His answer in the westering sun 

That called them ever as a shining word, 
And beckoned seaward as the rivers run. 



164 SOA'GS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

Tliey looked their last, wet-eyed, on Swedish 
hills, 

On German villages and English dales ; 
Like brooks that grow from many mountain rills 

The peasant-stream flowed out from Irish vales. 

Their grief at parting was not all a grief, 
But blended sweetly with the joy to come, 

When from full store they spared the rich relief 
To gladden all the dear ones left at home. 

" We thank thee, God ! " they cried ; " the cruel 
gate 
That barred our lives has swung beneath Thy 
hand ; 
Behind our ship now frowns the cruel fate, 

Before her smiles the teeming Promised Land ! " 

Alas ! when shown in mercy or in wrath, 
How weak we are to read God's awful lore ! 

His breath protected on the stormy path. 

And dashed them lifeless on the promised 
shore ! 



THE WRECK OF THE ATLANTIC. 165 

His iiand sustained them in the partmg woe, 
And gave bright vision to the heart of each ; 

His waters bore them where tliey wished to go, 
Then swept them seaward from the very beach ! 

Their home is reached, their fetters now are riven, 
Their humble toil is o'er, — their rest has come ; 

A land was promised and a land is given, — 
But, oh ! God help the waiting ones at home ! 



i66 



WITHERED SNOWDROPS. 

' I ^HEY came in the early spring-days, 
With the first refreshing showers ; 
And I watched the growing beauty 
Of the little drooping flowers. 

They had no bright hues to charm me, 

No gay painting to allure ; 
But they made me think of angels, 

They were all so white and pure. 

In the early morns I saw them, 
Dew-drops clinging to each bell. 

And the first glad sunbeam hasting 
Just to kiss them ere they fell. 

Daily grew their spotless beauty ; 
But I feared when chill winds blew 



WITHERED SNOWDROPS. 1 67 

They were all too frail and tender, — 
And alas ! my fears were true. 

One glad morn I went to see them 
While the bright drops gemmed their snow, 

And one angel flower was withered, 
Its fair petals drooping low. 

Its white sister's tears fell on it, 

And the sunbeam sadly shone ; 
For its innocence was withered, 

And its purity was gone. 

Still I left it there ; I could not 

Tear it rudely from its place ; 
It might rise again, and summer 

Might restore its vanished grace. 

But my hopes grew weaker, weaker, 
And my heart with grief was pained 

When I knew it must be severed 
From the innocence it stained. * 



1 68 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

I must take it from the pure ones : 
Henceforth they must live apart. 

But I could not cut my flow'ret — 
My lost angel — from my heart. 

Oft I think of that dead snowdrop, 
Think with sorrow, when I meet, 

Day by day, the poor lost flowers, — 
Sullied snowdrops of the street. 

They were pure once, loved and loving, 
And there still lives good within. 

Ah ! speak gently to them : harsh words 
Will not lead them from their sin. 

The are not like withered flowers 
That can never bloom again : 

They can rise, bright angel snowdrops, 
Purified from every stain. 



169 



THE WAIL OF TWO CITIES. 



CHICAGO, OCTOBER 9, 1871. 

/'~^ AUNT in the midst of the prairie, 

She who was once so fair ; 
Charred and rent are her garments, 
Heavy and dark hke cerements ; 
Silent, but round her the air 
Plaintively wails, " Miserere ! " 



Proud like a beautiful maiden, 

Art-like from forehead to feet. 

Was she till pressed like a leman 

Close to the breast of the demon, 
Lusting for one so sweet. 

So were her shoulders laden. 



lyo SOA'GS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

Friends she had, rich in her treasures : 
Shall the old taunt be true, — 

Fallen, they turn their cold faces, 

Seeking new wealth-gilded places, 
Saying we never knew 

Aught of her smiles or her pleasures ? 

Silent she stands on the prairie. 

Wrapped in her fire-scathed sheet : 

Around her, thank God ! is the Nation, 

Weeping for her desolation, 

Pouring its gold at her feet, 

Answering her "Miserere I " 



oJOic 



BOSTON, NOVEMBER 9, 1872. 

O broad-breasted Queen among Nations ! 

O Mother, so strong in thy youth ! 
Has the Lord looked upon thee in ire, 
And willed thou be chastened by fire, 

Without any ruth ? 



THE WAIL OF TWO CITIES. ^7^ 

Has the Merciful tired of His mercy, 

And turned from thy sinning in wrath, 

That the world with raised hands sees and pities 

Thy desolate daughters, thy cities. 
Despoiled on their path ? 

One year since thy youngest was stricken : 

Thy eldest lies stricken to-day. 
Ah ! God, was thy wrath without pity. 
To tear the strong heart from our city. 

And cast it away ? 

O Father ! forgive us our doubting ; 

The stain from our weak souls efface ; 
Thou rebukest, we know, but to chasten ; 
Thy hand has but fallen to hasten 

Keturn to thy grace. 

Let us rise purified from our ashes 

As sinners have risen who grieved ; 

Let us show that twice-sent desolation 

On every true heart in the nation 
Has conquest achieved. 



172 



THE FISHERMEN OF WEXFORD. 

•npHERE is an old traditioiKsacred. held in Wex- 
ford town, 
That says : " Upon St. Martin's eve no net shall be 

let down ; 
No fishermen of Wexford shall, upon that holy day, 
Set sail or cast a line within the scope of Wexford 

Bay." 
The tongue that framed the order, or the time, no 

one could tell ; 
And no one ever questioned, but the people kept it 

well. 
And never in man's memory was fisher known to 

leave 
The little town of Wexford on the good St. Martin's 

Eve. 



THE FISHEJ^MEN OF WEXFORD. 173 

Alas ! alas for Wexford ! once iipon that holy 

day 
Came a wondrous shoal of herring to the waters of 

the Bay. 
The fishers and then? families stood out upon the 

beach, 
And all day watched with wistful eyes the wealth 

they might not reach. 
Such shoal was never seen before, and keen regrets 

went round — 
Alas ! alas for Wexford ! Hark ! what is that 

gratmg sound ? 
The boats' keels on the shingle ! Mothers ! wives ! 

ye well may grieve, — 
The fishermen of Wexford mean to sail on Martin's 

Eve! 

" Oh, stay ye ! " cried the women wild. " Stay ! " 

cried the men white-haired ; 
" And dare ye not to do this thing your fathers 

never dared. 



174 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

No man can thrive who tempts the Lord ! " 
" Away ! " they cried : " the Lord 

Ne'er sent a shoal of fish but as a fisherman's re- 
ward." 

And scoffingly they said, " To-night our nets shall 
sweep the Bay, 

And* take the Saint who guards it, should he come 
across our way ! " 

The keels have touched the water, and the crews 
are in each boat; 

And on St. Martin's Eve the "Wexford fishers are 
afloat ! 

The moon is shining coldly on the sea and on the 

land. 
On dark faces in the fishing-fleet and pale ones on 

the strand, 
As seaward go the daring boats, and heavenward 

the cries 
Of kneeling wives and mothers with uplifted hands 

and eyes. 



THE FISHERMEN OF WEXFORD. 1 75 

" O Holy Virgin ! be their guard ! " the weeping 
women cried; 

The old men, sad and silent, watched the boats 
cleave through the tide. 

As past the farthest headland, past the lighthouse, 
in a line 

The fishing-fleet went seaward through the phos- 
phor-lighted brine. 

Oh, pray, ye wives and mothers ! All your prayers 
they sorely need 

To save them from the wrath they 've roused by 
their rebellious greed. 

Oh ! white-haired men and little babes, and weep- 
ing sweethearts, pray 

To God to spare the fishermen to-night in Wexford 
Bay! 

The boats have reached good offing, and, as out the 

nets are thrown, 
The hearts ashore are chilled to hear the soughing 

sea wind's moan: 



176 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

Like to a human heart that loved, and hoped for 

some return, 
To find at last but hatred, so the sea-wind seemed 

to mourn. 
But ah ! the Wexford fishermen ! their nets did 

scarcely sink 
One inch below the foam, when, lo ! the daring 

boatmen shrink 
With sudden awe and whitened lips and glaring 

eyes agape, 
For breast-high, threatening, from the sea uprose a 

Human Shape ! 

Beyond them, — in the moonlight, — hand upraised 

and awful mien, 
Waving back and pointing landwards, breast-high 

in the sea 'twas seen. 
Thrice it waved and thrice it pointed, — then, with 

clenchdd hand upraised, 
The awful shape went down before the fishers as 

they gazed ! 



THE FISHERMEN OF WEXFORD. 177 

Gleaming whitely through, the water, fathoms deep 
they saw its frown, — 

They saw its white hand clenched above it, — sink- 
ing slowly down ! 

And then there was a rushing 'neath the b«g^, and 
every soul 

Was thrilled with greed: they knew it was the 
seaward-going shoal ! 

Defying the dread warning, every face was sternly 
set, 

And wildly did they ply the oar, and wildly haul 
the net. 

But two boats' crews obeyed the sign, — God-fearing 
men were they, — 

They cut their lines and left theh nets, and home- 
ward sped away; 

But darkly rising sternwards did God's wrath in 
tempest sweep. 

And they, of all the jBshermen, that night escaped 
the deep. 

8* 



178 SO.VGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

Oh, wives and mothers, sweethearts, sires! well 

might ye mourn next day ; 
For seventy fishers' corpses strewed the shores of 

Wexford Bay I 



179 



THE FLYING DUTCHMAN. 

T ONG time ago, from Amsterdam a vessel sailed 
-■-^ away, — 

As fair a ship as ever flung aside the laughing 

spray. ' 
Upon the shore were tearful eyes, and scarfs were 

in the air. 
As to her, o'er the Zuyder Zee, went fond adieu 

and prayer ; 
And brave hearts, yearning shoreward from the 

outward- going ship, 
Felt lingering kisses clinging still to tear-wet cheek 

and lip. 
She iSteered for some far eastern clime, and, as she 

slummed the seas. 
Each taper mast was bending like a rod before the 

breeze. 



l8o SOA'GS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

Her captain was a stalwart man, — an iron heart 

had he, — 
From childhood's days he sailed upon the rolling 

Zuyder Zee : 
He nothing feared upon the earth, and scarcely 

heaven feared. 
He would have dared and done whatever mortal 

man had dared ! 
He looked aloft, where high in air the pennant cut 

the blue. 
And every rope and spar and sail was firm and 

strong and true. 
He turned him from the swelling sail to gaze upon 

the shore, — 
Ah ! httle thought the skipper then 'twould meet 

his eye no more : 
He dreamt not that an awful doom was hanging 

o'er his ship. 
That Vanderdecken's name would yet make pale 

the speaker's lip. 
The vessel bounded on her way, and spire and 

dome went down, — 



THE FLYING DUTCHMAN. 151 

Ere darkness fell, beneath the wave had sunk the 

distant town. 
No more, no more, ye hapless crew, shall Holland 

meet your eye. 
In lingering hope and keen suspense, maid, wife, 

and child shall die ! 

Away, away the vessel speeds, till sea and sky 

alone 
Are round her, as her course she steers across the 

torrid zone. 
Away, until the North Star fades, the Southern 

Cross is high, 
And myriad gems of brightest beam are sparkling 

in the sky. 
The tropic winds are left behind ; she nears the 

Cape of Storms, 
Where awful Tempest ever sits enthroned in wild 

alarms ; 
Where Ocean in his anger shakes aloft his foamy 

crest. 
Disdainful of the weakly toys that ride upon his 

breast. 



l82 SOA^GS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

Fierce swell the winds and waters round tlie Dutch- 
man's gallant ship, 

But, to their rage, defiance rings from Vander- 
decken's lip : 

Impotent they to make him swerve, their might he 
dares despise, 

As straight he holds his onward course, and wind 
and wave defies. 

For days and nights he struggles in the wierd, 
unearthly fight. 

His brow is bent, his eye is fierce, but looks of deep 
affright 

Amongst the mariners go round, as hopelessly they 
steer : 

They do not dare to murmur, but they whisper 
what they fear. 

Their black-browed captain awes them : 'neath his 
darkened eye they quail. 

And in a grim and sullen mood their bitter fate 
bewail. 

As some fierce rider ruthless spurs a timid, wav- 
ering horse. 



THE FLYING DUTCHMAN. 1 83 

He drives his shapely vessel, and they watch the 

reckless course, 
Till once again their skipper's laugh is flung upon 

the blast : 
The placid ocean smiles beyond, the dreaded Cape 

is passed ! 

Away across the Indian main the vessel northward 

glides ; 
A thousand murmuring ripples break along her 

graceful sides : . 
The perfumed breezes fill her sails, — her destined 

port she nears, — 
The captain's brow has lost its frown, the mariners 

their fears. 
" Land ho ! " at length the welcome sound the 

watchful sailor sings, 
And soon within an Indian bay the ship at anchor 

swings. 
Not idle then the busy crew : ere long the spacious 

hold 
Is emptied of its western freight, and stored with 

silk and gold. 



184 SOiVGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

Again the ponderous anchor 's weighed ; the shore 
is left behind, 

The snowy sails are bosomed out before the favor- 
ing wind. 

Across the warm blue Indian sea the vessel south- 
ward flies, 

And once again the North Star fades and Austral 
beacons rise. 

For home she steers ! she seems to know and 
answer to the word. 

And swifter skims the burnished deep, like some 
fair ocean- bird. 

" For home ! for home ! " the merry crew with 
gladsome voices cry, 

And dark-browed Vanderdecken has a mild light 
in his eye. 

But once again the Cape draws near, and furious 
billows rise ; 

And still the daring Dutchman's laugh the hurri- 
cane defies. 

But wildly shrieked the tempest ere the scornful 
sound had died, 



THE FLYING DUTCHMAN. 185 

A warning to the daring man to curb liis impious 

~ pride. 
A crested mountain struck the ship, and like a 

frighted bird 
She trembled 'neath the awful shock. Then Van- 

derdecken heard 
A pleading voice within the gale, — his better an- 
gel spoke, 
But fled before his scowling look, as mast-high 

mountains broke 
Around the trembling vessel, till the crew with 

terror paled; 
But Vanderdecken never flinched, nor 'neath the 

thunders quailed. 
With folded arms and stern-pressed lips, dark anger 

in his eye. 
He answered back the threatening frown that 

lowered o'er the sky. 
With fierce defiance in his heart, and scornful look 

of flame. 
He spoke, and thus with impious voice blasphemed 

God's holy name : — 



l86 SOA'GS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

" Howl on, ye winds ! ye tempests, liowl ! your 

rage is spent in vain : 
Despite your strength, your frowns, your hate, I '11 

ride upon the main. 
Defiance to your idle shrieks ! I '11 sail upon my 

path: 
I cringe not for thy Maker's smile, — I care not for 

His wrath ! " 

He ceased. An awful silence fell: the tempest 
and the sea 

Were hushed in sudden stillness by the Ruler's 
dread decree. 

The ship was riding motionless within the gather- 
ing gloom ; 

The Dutchman stood upon the poop and heard liia 
dreadful doom. 

The hapless crew were on the deck in swooning 
terror prone, — 

They, too, were bound in fearful fate. In angered 
thunder-tone 



THE FLYING DUTCHMAN. 187 

The judgment words swept o'er the sea : " Go, 

wretch, accurst, condemned ! 
Go sail for ever on the deep, by shrieking tempests 

hemmed. 
No home, no port, no calm, no rest, no gentle 

fav'ring breeze. 
Shall ever greet thee. Go, accurst! and battle 

with the seas ! 
Go, braggart ! struggle with the storm, nor ever 

cease to live. 
But bear a million times the pangs that death and 

fear can give. 
Away ! and hide thy guilty head, a curse to all thy 

kind 
Who ever see thee struggling, wretch, with ocean 

and with wind. 
Away, presumptuous worm of earth ! Go teach 

thy fellow- worms 
The awful fate that waits on him who braves the 

King of Storms ! " 



l88 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

'Twas o'er. A lurid lightning flash lit up the sea 
and sky 

Around and o'er the fated ship ; then rose a wail- 
ing cry 

From every heart within her, of keen anguish and 
despair ; 

But mercy was for them no more, — it died away 
in air. 

Once more the lurid light gleamed out, — the ship 

was still at rest, 
The crew were standing at their posts ; with arms 

across his breast 
Still' stood the captain on the poop, but bent and 

crouching now 
He bowed beneath that fiat dread, and o'er his 

swarthy brow 
Swept lines of anguish, as if he a thousand years 

of pain 
Had lived and suffered. Then across the heaving, 

angry main 



THE FLYING DUTCHMAN. 1 89 

The tempest shrieked triumphant, and the angry- 
waters hissed 

Their vengeful hate against the toy they oftentimes 
had kissed. 

And ever through the midnight storm that hapless 
crew must speed : 

They \xj to round the stormy Cape, but never can 
succeed. 

And oft when gales are wildest, and the lightning's 
vivid sheen 

Flashes back the ocean's anger, still the Phantom 
Ship is seen 

Ever sailing to the southward in the fierce tor- 
nado's swoop, 

With her ghostly crew and canvas, and her captain 
on the poop. 

Unrelenting, unforgiven ; and 'tis said that every 
word 

Of his blasphemous defiance still upon the gale is 
heard ! 

But Heaven help the ship near which the dismal 
sailor steers, — 



190 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

The doom of those is sealed to whom that Phan- 
tom Ship appears : 

They '11 never reach their destined port, — they '11 
see their homes no more, — 

They who see the Flying Dutchman — never, 
never reach the shore ! 



IQI 



UNCLE NED'S TALE. 

AN OLD dragoon's STORY. 

T OFTEN, musing, wander back to days long 

since gone by. 
And far-off scenes and long-lost forms arise to 

fancy's eye. 
A group familiar now I see, wlio all but one are 

fled,— 
My mother, sister Jane, myself, and dear old Uncle 

Ned. • 
I 'U tell you liow I see tbem now. First, mother 

in her chair 
Sits knitting by the parlor fire, with anxious matron 

air; 
My sister Jane, just nine years old, is seated at her 

feet. 
With look demure, as if she, too, were thinldng 

how to meet 



192 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

The butcher's or the baker's bill, — though not a 

thought has she 
Of aught beside her girlish toys ; and next to her 

I see 
Myself, a sturdy lad of twelve, — neglectful of the 

book 
That open lies upon my knee, — my fixed admir- 

mg look 
At Uncle Ned, upon the left, whose upright, mar- 
tial mien. 
Whose empty sleeve and gray moustache, proclaim 

what he has been. 
My mother I had always loved; my father then 

was dead ; 
But 'twas more than love — 'twas worship — I felt 

for Uncle Ned. 
Such tales he had of battle-fields, — the victory 

and the rout. 
The ringing cheer, the dying shriek, the loud 

exulting shout ! 
And how, forgetting age and wounds, his eye 

would kindle bright, 



UNCLE NED'S TALE. 193 

When telling of some desperate ride or close and 

deadly fight ! 
But oft I noticed, in the midst of some wild martial 

tale, 
To which I lent attentive ear, my mother's cheek 

grow pale : 
She sighed to see my kindled look, and feared I 

might be led 
To follow in the wayward steps of poor old Uncle 

Ned. 
But with all the wondrous tales he told, 'twas 

strange I never heard 
Of his last fight, for of that day he never spoke a 

word. 
And yet 'twas there he lost his arm, and once he 

e'en confessed 
'Twas there he won the glittering cross he wore 

upon his breast. 
It hung the centre of a group of Glory's emblems 

fair. 
And royal hands, he told me once, had placed the 

bauble there. 

9 



194 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

Each day that passed I hungered more to hear 
about that fight, 

And oftentimes I prayed in vain. At length, one 
winter's night, — 

The very night I speak of now, — with more than 
usual care 

I filled his pipe, then took my stand beside my 
uncle's chair ; 

I fixed my eyes upon the Cross, — he saw my youth- 
ful plan ; 

And, smiling, laid the pipe aside and thus the tale 
began : — 

'* Well, boy, it was in summer time, and just at 

morning's light 
We heard the ' Boot and Saddle ! ' sound : the foe 

was then in sight, 
Just winding round a distant hill and opening on 

the plain. 
Each trooper looked with careful eye to girth and 

curb and rein. 



UNCLE NED'S TALE. IpS 

We snatclied a hasty breakfast, — we were old 

campaigners then : 
That morn, of all our splendid corps, we 'd scarce 

one hundred men ; 
But they were soldiers, tried and true, who 'd 

rather die than yield : 
The rest were scattered far and wide o'er many a 

hard-fought field. 
Our trumpet now rang sharply out, and at a 

swinging pace 
"We left the bivouac behind ; and soon the eye 

could trace 
The columns moving o'er the plain. Oh ! 'twas a 

stirring sight 
To see two mighty armies there preparing for the 

fight: 
To watch the heavy masses, as, with practised, 

steady wheel. 
They opened out in slender lines of brightly flash- 
ing steel. 
Our place was on the farther flank, behind some 

rising ground, 



196 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

That hid the stirring scene from view ; but soon a 

booming sound 
Proclaimed the opening of the fight. Then war's 

loud thunder rolled, 
And hurtling shells and whistling balls their deadly 

message told. 
We hoped to have a gallant day ; our hearts were 

all aglow ; 
We longed for one wild, sweeping charge, to chase 

the fljing foe. 
Our troopers marked the hours glide by, but still 

no orders came : 
They clutched their swords, and muttered words 

'twere better not to name. 
For hours the loud artillery roared, — the sun was 

at its height, — 
Still there we lay behind that hill, shut out from 

all the fight ! 
We heard the maddened charging yells, the ringing 

British cheers, 
And all the din of glorious war kept sounding in 

our ears. 



UNCLE NED'S TALE. 197 

Our hearts with, fierce impatience throbbed, we 

cursed the very hill 
That hid the sight : the evening fell, and we were 

idle still. 
The horses, too, were almost wild, and told with 

angry snort 
And blazing eye their fierce desire to join the 

savage sport. 
"When lower still the sun had sunk, and with it 

all our hope, 
A horseman, soiled with smoke and sweat, came 

dashing down the slope. 
He bore the wished-for orders. ' At last ! ' our 

Colonel cried ; 
And as he read the brief despatch his glance was 

filled with pride. 
Then he who bore the orders, in a low, emphatic 

tone, 
The stern, expressive sentence spoke, — ' Se said it 

must he done ! ' 
' It shall be done ! ' our Colonel cried. ' Men, look 

to strap and girth. 



198 solves FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

We 've work to do this day will prove what every 

man is worth ; 
Ay, work, my lads, will make amends for all our 

long delay, — 
The General says on us depends the fortune of the 

day!' 

" No order needed we to mount, — each man was 

in his place. 
And stern and dangerous was the look on every 

veteran face. 
"We trotted sharply up the hill, and halted on the 

brow. 
And then that glorious field appeared. Oh ! lad, 

I see it now ! 
But little time had we to spare for idle gazing then : 
Beneath us, in the valley, stood a dark-clad mass of 

men: 
It cut the British line in two. Our Colonel shouted, 

* There ! 
Behold your work ! Our orders are to charge and 

break that square ! ' 



UNCLE NED'S TALE. 1 99 

Each trooper drew a heavy breath, then gathered 

up his reins, 
And pressed the helmet o'er his brow \ the horses 

tossed their manes 
In protest fierce against the curb, and spurned the 

springy heath, 
Impatient for the trumpet's sound to bid them rush 

to death. 

" Well, boy, that moment seemed an hour : at last 

we heard the words, — 
' Dragoons ! I know you '11 follow me. Ride steady, 

men ! Draw swords ! ' 
The trumpet sounded : off we dashed, at first with 

steady pace, 
But growing swifter as we went. Oh! 'twas a 

gallant race ! 
Three-fourths the ground was left behind : the loud 

and thrilhng ' Charge ! ' 
Rang out ; but, fairly frantic now, we needed not 

to urffe 



200 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

With voice or rein our gallant steeds, or touch 

their foaming flanks. 
They seemed to fly. Now straight in front appeared 

the kneeling ranks. 
Above them waved a standard broad : we saw their 

rifles raised, — 
A moment more, with awful crash, the deadly 

volley blazed. 
The bullets wliistled through our ranks, and many 

a trooper fell ; 
But we were left. What cared we then ? but on- 
ward rushing still ! 
Again the crash roared fiercely out ; but on ! still 

madly on ! 
We heard the shrieks of dyiag men, but recked not 

who was gone. 
We gored the horses' foaming flanks, and on through 

smoke and glare 
We wildly dashed, with clenched teeth. We had 

no thought, no care ! 
Then came a sudden, sweeping rush. Again with 

savaore heel 



UNCLE NED'S TALE. 20I 

I struck my horse : with awful bound lie rose right 
o'er their steel ! 

" Well, boy, I cannot tell you how that dreadful 

leap was made. 
But there I rode, inside the square, and grasped a 

reeking blade. 
I cared not that I was alone, my eyes seem filled 

with blood : 
I never thought a man could feel in such a mur- 
derous mood. 
I parried not, nor guarded thrusts ; I felt not pain 

or wound. 
But madly spurred the frantic horse, and swept my 

sword around. 
I tried to reach the standard sheet; but there at 

last was foiled. 
The gallant horse was jaded now, and from the 

steel recoiled. 
They saw his fright, and pressed him then : his 

terror made him rear. 
And falliagback he crushed their ranks, and broke 

their guarded square ! 
9* 



202 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

My comrades saw the gap lie made, and soon came 

dashing in ; 
They raised me up, — I felt no hurt, but mingled 

m the din. 
I 'd seen some fearful work before, but never was 

engaged 
In such a Avild and savage fight as now around me 

raged. 
The foe had ceased their firing, and now plied the 

deadly steel : 
Though all our men were wounded then, no pain 

they seemed to feel. 
No groans escaped from those who fell, but horrid 

oaths instead, 
And scowling looks of hate were on the features 

of the dead. 
The fight was round the standard : though outnum- 
bered ten to one. 
We held our ground, — ay, more than that, — we 

still kept pushing on. 
Our men now made a desperate rush to take the 

flag by storm. 



UNCLE NED'S TALE. 203 

I seized tlie pole, a blow came down and crushed 

my outstretclied arm. 
I felt a sudden thrill of pain, but that soon passed 

away; 
And, with a devilish thirst for blood, again I joined 

the fray. 
At last we rallied all our strength, and charged o'er 

heaps of slain : 
Some fought to death ; some wavered, — then fled 

across the plam. 

"Well, boy, the rest is all confused: there was a 

fearful rout ; 
I saw our troopers chase the foe, and heard their 

maddened shout. 
Then came a blank : my senses reeled, I know not 

how I fell ; 
I seemed to grapple with a foe, but that I cannot 

tell. 
My mind was gone : when it came back I saw the 

moon on high ; 
Around me all was still as death. I gazed up at 

the sky, 



204 SOJVGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

And watclied the glimmering stars above, — so 

quiet did they seem, — 
And all that dreadful field appeared like some wild, 

fearful dream. 
But memory soon came back again, and cleared my 

wandering brain, 
And then from every joint and limb shot fiery darts 

of pain. 
My throat was parched, the burning tliirst increased 

with every breath ; 
I made no effort to arise, but wished and prayed for 

death. 
My bridle arm was broken, and lay throbbing on 

the sward, 
But something still my right hand grasped: 1 

thought it was my sword. 
I raised my hand to cast it off, — no reeking blade 

was there ; 
Then life and strength returned, — I held the 

Standard of the Square ! 
With bounding heart I gained my feet. Oh ! then 

I wished to live. 



UNCLE NED'S TALE. 205 

'Twas strange the strength and love of life that 
standard seemed to give! 

I gazed around : far down the vale I saw a camp- 
fire's glow. 

With wandering step I ran that way, — I recked 
not friend or foe. 

Though stumbling now o'er heaps of dead, now 
o'er a stiffened horse, 

I heeded not, but watched the light, and held my 
onward course. 

But soon that flash of strength had failed, and 
checked my feverish speed; 

Again my throat was all ablaze, my wounds began 
to bleed. 

I knew that if I fell again, my chance of life was 
gone, 

So, leaning on the standard-pole, I still kept strug- 
gling on. 

At length I neared the camp-fire : there were scar- 
let jackets round, 

And swords and brazen helmets lay strewn upon 
the ground. 



2o6 SOJVGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

Some distance off, in order ranged, stood men, — 
about a score : 

God! 'twas all that now remained of my old 

gallant corps ! 
The muster-roll was being called: to every well- 
known name 

1 heard the solemn answer, — ' Dead ! ' At length 

my own turn came. 

I paused to hear, — a comrade answered, ' Dead ! 
I saw liim fall ! ' 

I could not move another step, I tried in vain to call. 

My life was flowing fast, and all around was gather- 
ing haze. 

And o'er the heather tops I watched my comrades' 
cheerful blaze. 

I thought such anguish as I felt was more than man 
could bear. 

God ! it was an awful thing to die with help so 

near! 
And death was stealing o'er me : with the strength 
of wild despair 

1 raised the standard o'er my head, and waved it 

through the air. 



UNCLE NED'S TALE. 207 

Then all grew dim ; the fire, the men, all vanished 

from my sight. 
My senses reeled ; I know no more of that eventful 

night. 
'Twas weeks before my mind came back : I knew 

not where I lay, 
But kindly hands were round me, and old comrades 

came each day. 
They told me how the waving flag that night had 

caught their eye, 
And how they found me bleeding there, and thought 

that I must die ; 
They brought me all the cheering news, — the war 

was at an end. 
No wonder 'twas, with all their care, I soon began 

to mend. 
The General came to see me, too, with all his bril- 
liant train. 
But what he said, or how I felt, to tell you now 

'twere vain. 
Enough, I soon grew strong again : the wished-for 

route had come, 



2oS SOA'GS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

And all the gallant veteran troops set out with 

cheers for home. 
We soon arrived ; and then, my lad, 'twould thriU 

your heart to hear 
How England welcomed home her sons with many 

a ringing cheer. 
But tush ! what boots it now to speak of what was 

said or done ? 
The victory was dearly bought, our bravest hearts 

were gone. 
Ere long the King reviewed us. Ah ! that memory 

is sweet ! 
They made me bear the foreign flag, and lay it at 

his feet. 
I parted from my brave old corps : 'twere matter, 

lad, for tears, 
To leave the kind old comrades I had ridden with 

for years. 
I was no longer fit for war, my wanderings had to 

cease. 
There, boy, I 've told you all my tales. Now let 

me smoke in peace." 



UNCLE NED'S TALE. 209 

How vivid grows tlie picture now ! liow bright 

eacli scene appears ! 
I trace eacli loved and long-lost face with eyes be- 

dimmed in tears. 
How plain I hear thee, Uncle Ned, and see thy 

musing look. 
Comparing all thy glory to the curling wreaths of 

smoke ! 
A truer, braver soldier ne'er for king and country 

bled. 
His wanderings are for ever o'er. God rest thee, 

Uncle Ned I 



2IO 



UNCLE NED'S TALES. 

HOW THE FLAG WAS SAVED.* 

V I ^WAS a dismal winter's evening, fast without 

-*- came down the snow, 
But within, the cheerful fire cast a ruddy, genial 

glow 
O'er our pleasant little parlor, that was then my 

mother's pride. 
There she sat beside the glowing grate, my sister 

by her side ; 
And beyond, within the shadow, in a cosy little 

nook 
Uncle Ned and I were sitting, and in whispering 

tones we spoke. 
I was asking for a story he had promised me to 

tell,— 

* An inciJent from the record of the Enniskillen Dragoons in 
Spain, imder General Picton. 



UNCLE NED'S TALES. 211 

Of liis comrade, old Dick Hilton, liow lie fought 
and liow he fell ; 

And with eager voice I pressed him, till a mighty 
final cloud 

Blew he slowly, then upon his breast his grisly 
head he bowed. 

And, musing, stroked his gray mustache ere he 
began to speak, 

Then brushed a tear that stole along his bronzed 
and furrowed cheek. 

" Ah, no ! I will not speak to-night of that sad 
tale," he cried : 

" Some other time I '11 tell you, boy, about that 
splendid ride. 

Your words have set me thinking of the many care- 
less years 

That comrade rode beside me, and have caused 
these bitter tears ; 

For I loved him, boy, — for twenty years we gal- 
loped rein to rein, — 

In peace and war, through all that time, stanch 
comrades had we been. 



212 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

As boys we rode together when our soldiering first 

began, 
And in all those years I knew him for a true and 

trusty man. 
One who never swerved from danger, — for he knew 

not how to fear, — 
If grim Death arrayed his legions, Dick would 

charge him with a cheer. 
He was happiest in a struggle or a wild and dan- 
gerous ride : 
Every inch a trooper was he, and he cared for 

naught beside. 
He was known for many a gallant deed : to-night 

I '11 tell you one. 
And no braver feat of arms was by a soldier ever 

done. 
'Twas when we were 3^oung and fearless, for 'twas 

in our first campaign. 
When we galloped through the orange groves and 

fields of sunny Spain. 
Our wary old commander was retiring from the 

foe, 



UNCLE NED'S TALES. 21 S 

Who came pressing close upon us, with a proud, 

exulting show. 
"We could hear their taunting laughter, and within 

our very sight 
Did they ride defiant round us, — ay, and dared us 

to the fight. 
But brave old Picton heeded not, but held his 

backward track, 
And smiling said the day would come to pay the 

Frenchmen back. 
And come it did : one morning, long before the 

break of day. 
We were standing to our arms, all ready for the 

coming fray. 
Soon the sun poured down his glory on the hostile 

lines arrayed. 
And his beams went flashing brightly back from 

many a burnished blade, 
Soon to change its spotless lustre for a reeking 

crimson stain, 
In some heart, then throbbing proudly, that will 

never throb again 



214 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

When that sun has reached his zenith, life and 

pride will then have fled, 
And his beams will mock in splendor o'er the 

ghastly heaps of dead. 
Oh, 'tis sad to think how many but I wander, 

lad, I fear ; 
And, though the moral's good, I guess the tale 

you 'd rather hear. 
Well, I said that we were ready, and the foe was 

ready, too ; 
Soon the fight was raging fiercely, — thick and fast 

the bullets flew, 
With a bitter hiss of malice, as if hungry for the 

life 
To be torn from manly bosoms in the maddening 

heat of strife. 
Distant batteries were thundering, pouring grape 

and shell like rain. 
And the cruel missiles hurtled with their load of 

death and j)ain, 
Which they carried, hke fell demons, to the heart 

of some brigade, 



UNCLE NED'S TALES. 215 

Where the sudden, awful stillness told the havoc 

they had made. 
Thus the struggle raged tiU noon, and neither side 

could vantage show ; 
Then the tide of battle turned, and swept in favor 

of the foe ! 
Fiercer still the cannon thundered, — wilder 

screamed the grape and shell, — 
Onward pressed the French battalions, — back the 

British masses fell ! 
Then, as on its prey devoted, fierce the hungered 

vulture swoops. 
Swung the foeman's charging squadrons down upon 

our broken troops. 
Victory hovered o'er their standard, — on they 

swept with maddened shout. 
Spreading death and havoc round them, tiU retreat 

was changed to rout ! 
'Twas a saddening sight to witness ; and, when 

Pic ton saw them fly. 
Grief and shame were mixed and burning in the 

old commander's eye. 



2l6 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

We were riding in his escort, close behind him, on 

a height 
Which the fatal field commanded ; thence we 

viewed the growing flight. 

" But, my lad, I now must tell you something more 
about that hill, 

And I '11 try to make you see the spot as I can see 
it stiU. 

Right before us, o'er the battle-field, the fall was 
sheer and steep ; 

On our left the ground fell sloping, in a pleasant, 
grassy sweep, 

Where the aides went dashing swiftly, bearing 
orders to and fro. 

For by that sloping side alone they reached the 
plain below. 

On our right — now pay attention, boy — a yawn- 
ing fissure lay, 

As if an earthquake's shock had split the moun- 
tain's side away. 

And in the dismal gulf, far down, we heard the 
angry roar 



UNCLE NED'S TALES. 217 

Of a foaming mountain torrent, that, mayhap, the 

cleft had wore. 
As it rushed for countless ages through its black 

and secret lair ; 
But no matter how 'twas formed, my lad, the 

yawning gulf was there. 
And from the farther side a stone projected o'er the 

gorge, — 
'Twas strange to see the massive rock just balanced 

on the verge ; 
It seemed as if an eagle's weight the ponderous 

mass of stone 
Would topple from its giddy height, and send it 

crashing down. 
It stretched far o'er the dark abyss ; but, though 

'twere footing good, 
'Twas twenty feet or more from off the side on 

which we stood. 
Beyond the cleft a gentle slope went down and 

joined the plain, — 
Now, lad, back to where we halted, and again 

resume the rein. 

10 



2l8 SOA'GS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

I said our troops were routed. Far and near they 

broke and fled, 
The grape-shot tearmg through them, leaving lanes 

of mangled dead. 
All order lost, they left the fight, — they threw 

their arms away, 
And joined in one wild panic rout, — ah ! 'twas a 

bitter day ! 

" But did I say that all was lost ? Nay, one brave 

corps stood fast. 
Determined they would never fly, but fight it to 

the last. 
They barred the Frenchman from his pre}', and 

his whole fury braved, — 
One brief hour could they hold their ground, the 

army might be saved. 
Fresh troops were hurrying to our aid, — we saw 

their glittering head, — 
Ah, God ! how those brave hearts were raked by 

the death-shower of lead ! 
But stand thc}^ did : they never flinched nor took 

one backward stiide, 



UNCLE NED'S TALES. 219 

They sent their bayonets home, and then with 

stubborn courage died. 
But few were left of that brave band when the 

dread hour had passed, 
Still, faint and few, they held their flag above them 

to the last. 
But now a cloud of horsemen, like a shadowy 

avalanche, 
Sweeps down : as Picton sees them, e'en his cheek 

is seen to blanch. 
They were not awed, that little band, but rallied 

once again. 
And sent us back a farewell cheer. Then burst 

from reckless men 
The anguished cry, ' God help them ! ' as we saw 

the feeble flash 
Of their last defiant volley, when upon them with 

a crash 
Burst the gleaming lines of riders, — one by one 

they disappear. 
And the chargers' hoofs are trampling on the last 

of that brave square ! 



220 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

On swept the squadrons ! Then we looked where 
last the band was seen : 

A scarlet heap was all that marked the place where 
they had been ! 

Still forward spurred the horsemen, eager to com- 
plete the rout ; 

But our lines had been re-formed now, and five 
thousand guns belched out 

A reception to the squadrons, — rank on rank was 
piled that day. 

Every bullet hissed out ' Vengeance ! ' as it whis- 
tled on its way. 

" And now it was, with maddened hearts, we saw 

a galling sight : 
A French hussar was riding close beneath us on 

the right, — 
He held a British standard ! With insulting shout 

he stood. 
And waved the flag, — its heavy folds drooped 

down with shame and blood, — 
The blood of hearts unconquered : 'twas the flag 

of the stanch corps 



UNCLE NED'S TALES. 221 

That ]iad fougiit to death beneath it, — it was heavy 

with their gore. 
The foreign dog ! I see him as he holds the 

standard down, 
And makes his charger trample on its colors and 

its crown ! 
But his life soon paid the forfeit: with a cry of 

rage and pain, 
Hilton dashes from the escort, like a tiger from his 

chain. 
Nought he sees but that insulter ; and he strikes 

his frightened horse 
With his clenched hand, and spurs him, with a 

bitter-spoken curse. 
Straight as bullet from a rifle — but, great Lord! 

he has not seen. 
In his angry thirst for vengeance, the black gulf 

that lies between ! 
AH our warning shouts unheeded, starkly on he 

headlong rides. 
And lifts his horse, with bloody spurs deep buried 

in his sides. 



222 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

God's mercy ! does he see the gulf? Ha ! now his 

purpose dawns 
Upon our minds, as nearer still the rocky fissure 

yawns : 
Where from the farther side the stone leans o'er 

the stream beneath, 
He means to take the awful leap ! Cold horror 

checks our breath. 
And still and mute we watch him now : he nears 

the fearful place ; 
We hear him shout to cheer the horse, and keep 

the headlong pace. 
Then comes a rush, — short strides, — a blow ! — 

the horse bounds wildly on. 
Springs high in air o'er the abyss, and lands 

upon the stone ! 
It trembles, topples 'neath their weight ! it sin^s ! 

ha ! bravely done ! 
Another spring, — they gain the side, — the pon- 
derous rock is gone 
With crashing roar, a thousand feet, down to the 

flood below, 



UNCLE NED'S TALES. 223 

And Hilton, heedless of its noise, is riding at the 
foe ! 

" The Frenchman stared in wonder : he was brave, 
and would not run, 

'Twould merit but a coward's brand to turn and 
fly from one. 

But still he shuddered at the glance from 'neath 
that knitted brow : 

He knew 'twould be a death fight, but there was 
no shrinking now. 

He pressed his horse to meet the shock : straight at 
him Hilton made, 

And as they closed the Frenchman's cut fell harm- 
less on his blade ; 

But scarce a moment's time had passed ere, spur- 
ring from the field, 

A troop of cuirassiers closed round and called on 
him to yield. 

One glance of scorn he threw them, — all his answer 
in a frown, — 

And riding at their leader with one sweep he cut 
him down ; 



224 SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

Then aimed at him who held the flag a cut of 

crushing might, 
And split him to the very chin ! — a horrid, ghastly 

sight ! 
He seized the standard from his hand ; but now 

the Frenchmen close. 
And that stout soldier, all alone, fights with a 

hundred foes ! 
They cut and cursed, — a dozen swords were whis- 
tling round his head ; 
He could not guard on every side, — from fifty 

wounds he bled. 
His sabre crashed through helm and blade, as 

though it were a mace ; 
He cut their steel cuirasses and he slashed them 

o'er the face. 
One tall dragoon closed on him, but he wheeled 

his horse around. 
And cloven through the helmet went the trooper 

to the ground. 
But his sabre blade was broken by the fury of the 

blow. 



UNCLE NED'S TALES. 225 

And he hurled the useless, bloody hilt against the 

nearest foe ; 
Then furled the colors round the pole, and, like a 

levelled lance, 
He charged with that red standard through the 

bravest troops of France ! 
His horse, as lion-hearted, scarcely needed to be 

urged. 
And steed and rider bit the dust before him as he 

charged. 
Straight on he rode, and down they went, till he 

had cleared the ranks, 
Then once again he loosed the rein and struck his 

horse's flanks. 
A cheer broke from the French dragoons, — a loud, 

admiring shout ! — - 
As off he rode, and o'er him shook the tattered 

colors out. 
Still might they ride him down : they scorned to fire 

or to pursue, — 
Brave hearts ! they cheered him to our lines, — »- 

their army cheering, too ! 
10* 



2 26 SOA^GS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS. 

And we — what did we do ? you ask. Well, boy, 

we did not clieer, 
Nor not one sound of welcome reached our hero 

comrade's ear ; 
But, as he rode along the ranks, each soldier's head 

was bare, — 
Our hearts were far too full for cheers, — we wel- 
comed him with prayer. 
Ah ! boy, we loved that dear old flag, — ay, loved 

it so, we cried 
Like children, as we saw it wave in all its tattered 

pride ! 
No, boy, no cheers to greet him, though he played 

a noble part, — 
We only prayed ' God bless him ! ' but that prayer 

came from the heart. 
He knew we loved him for it, — he could see it in 

our tears, — 
And such silent earnest love as that is better, boy, 

than cheers. 
Next day we fought the Frenchman, and we drove 

him back, of course. 



UNCLE NED'S TALES. 227 

Though we lost some goodly soldiers, and old Pic- 
ton lost a horse. 

But there I 've said enough : your mother's warn- 
ing finger shook, — 

Mind, never be a soldier, boy ! — now let me have 
a smoke." 



Cambridge ; Press of John Wilson and Son. 



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